Ultimate Weapon of the Chozo
by tikitikirevenge
Summary: Though a peaceful people, their final legacy was one of destruction. As the war between the Pirates and the GF increases in intensity over a fabled weapon, the personal war between Aran and Ridley becomes deadly.
1. Firing

**ULTIMATE WEAPON  
OF THE CHOZO**

**By _tikitikirevenge_**

Disclaimer: This is a fan-made story based on the Metroid™ video game franchise by Nintendo™. All characters in this story are the property of their respective owners.

Brief note: I seem to have accidentally written a non-humour story. Don't expect anything good. Please read it and leave feedback nonetheless.

* * *

**ONE – FIRING**

* * *

_Planet Zebes  
3199/12/31, 21:00_

* * *

"Firing at departing ships," acknowledged the Space Pirate lieutenant, his hands moving over the weapons controls of the Class Beta warship.

From the view port, Space Pirate Commander Ridley watched idly as civilian transport ships burst into flames. "How pitiful," he drawled lazily, "they really do believe they have a chance."

The warship which he sat in was one of the best catches which the Space Pirates had found in recent times. They had managed to trick their way on board. The former crew's blood still needed to be cleaned from the walls, but Ridley was patient. One did not become one of the elite Space Pirates, a position commanding a first-name status and a position below _only_ the Space Pirate High Commander, without having seen a fair share of blood.

"Commander," shouted someone on the other side of the bridge. "It's Tourainis!"

Ridley snapped his head around immediately. "What does the High Commander ask of me?" he said.

The pirate muttered something into his communicator. "He's ordered an emergency meeting of all the commanders. He says to be in this ship, meeting room, thirty seconds ago."

Ridley stood, flexing his muscles. "Right. You," he said, nodding at the lieutenant at the weapons platform, "you take control. Don't let so much as a bacterium out of Chozodia."

The lieutenant nodded. Ridley left.

* * *

_21:12_

While nobody would say as much, all of the commanders correctly predicted what the subject of discussion would be.

"Sit," said Tourainis, Space Pirate High Commander.

They sat.

"You are all aware," said Tourainis, "that to reach this rank you must have shown that you are more than perfect at doing what we all do – surviving."

There was a quiet murmur of assent.

"We must continue to fight for a freedom from the constraints of so-called civilisation, but to do that, we must be capable of fighting. Nobody within the ranks of the Space Pirates lies idle."

Tourainis paused for a moment, and looked around the table at the few he trusted. "Even within these walls, you can see that I do not discriminate. Most of our number, like I, are of an average size, biped, with pincers and what have you. It doesn't matter.

"Even at this table, you can see that I have both the smallest and largest of creatures working alongside me. We may not have anything in common in appearance, but we can all fight our oppressors. We can all inspire those below us in the chain of command. We _all_ can help this seemingly endless struggle – except for one of us."

At these words, all fell silent. Tourainis stood up, and began to pace.

"Out of those of my species, I am certainly the oldest. A few years ago, I started this entire operation with my bare hands. I was the best fighter out of all the Space Pirates. I doubt that holds true any longer.

"I grow old. I understand what keeps the Space Pirates together, and if the leader of this organisation becomes old and useless, they will lose their faith in the basic principles of the Space Pirates. I have thought this through, and I see three options.

"The first is for me to leave, and never return. I have no idea what would happen, but I suspect that it would instil suspicion of you commanders from the lower ranks, as the people would believe me killed.

"The second option is for me to step down from my position. I can think of a suitable choice for my successor, and I believe that this would not provide any trouble to any of you. However, when the founder of this organisation seems to abandon his philosophy of action, then that will also cause trouble among many of our people.

"That leaves the third option, which gives us the best of both worlds. They will not lose their faith in me. They will not lose their faith in anything. Indeed, a _martyr_ could do quite the opposite…"

Tourainis stopped. He was silent, and looked almost thoughtful. All of the other commanders could see the effects of time on this great man. They all understood what was to happen.

Finally, someone spoke – a gold-armoured Space Pirate of the species that would later be referred to as 'Tourainic' or 'Zebesian' in honour of Tourainis. "But Tourainis, oh great leader, what happens to command of the Space Pirates?"

Tourainis smiled. "I believe that our draconic friend Ridley would be a suitable choice for the second High Commander of the Space Pirates."

At these words, Ridley's eyes flickered, betraying emotion for a split second. "With all respect, High Commander, I fail to see what sets me apart from-"

"Humility will get you nowhere, Commander Ridley," said Tourainis sanguinely. "You are a force to be reckoned with whether in battle or in this room. You are one of the few commanders who actively share my high regard of innovation. And most importantly, unlike me, you have a long time ahead of you. With luck, it won't come to this in your case."

Tourainis walked towards the door of the meeting room, and turned back one last time. "I suspect that by 3200 on the general calendar, you will have a huge burden placed on you, Ridley. Two-and-a-half hours at most. Remember this – and I ask this of all of you.

"Firstly, remember who the enemy is. We fight against civilisation, not civilians. I want none of you to forget why we are doing this.

"Secondly, I have always favoured innovation. If we stagnate, we will be wiped out. Find new military strategies. Create new weapons. Do what is necessary. We must advance quicker than the Galactic Federation and the like does – that's not too hard, but it requires effort nonetheless.

"Finally, I ask you all to never stop believing in my – no, _our_ vision. This keeps us together. And never let my story be forgotten. In the centuries to come, no matter what happens, I will always be the first High Commander of the Space Pirates.

"And despite the sentimentality of this phrase… thank you. Thank you all."

Tourainis, First High Commander of the Space Pirates, smiled, turned around, and left the room.

And nobody spoke.

* * *

_22:00_

Ridley spent the next hour on the command deck, staring silently through the view port and looking at the carnage outside. Even the massacre of the current enemy was not enough to lighten his mood; he simply couldn't stop thinking about what was happening on the ground, in the centre of Chozodia.

Was it truly worth losing Tourainis? Perhaps. Ridley wasn't completely sure if Tourainis' prediction was right. Then again, Tourainis usually was.

Eventually, Ridley realised that there was no point in philosophising over something that would not be stopped. Coincidentally, it was at about this time when a Pirate dashed to his chair from the other side of the deck.

"Commander! Commander!" it shouted, forcing Ridley from his thoughts.

"What?" he snapped.

"Tourainis, commander… he went with a ground patrol into the Chozo temple."

"And…?" cued Ridley, knowing full well what would come next.

"The Chozo had gathered there for a final stand… the patrol is dead. So is the High Commander."

The entire room was suddenly silent. The only noises Ridley could hear were the distant screams of dying Chozo.

Ridley was silent for a moment. Then he said, "So Tourainis is dead. Long live the High Commander."

"Long live the High Commander," murmured everyone else.

Ridley sighed, realising that he was going to have to leave the deck again. To the messenger, "I presume that the other Commanders are in a private meeting?"

"Actually, commander, they've called a general assembly."

"I see," said Ridley. "Command goes back to the same as earlier. None of you leave the command deck. If you must see the meeting, patch it through the video channel." He stood up and left.

* * *

_22:58_

By the time Ridley reached the ground, where almost every Space Pirate in the fleet now was, everyone had started without him.

"…knew that there was a great risk in leading the way to the last few Chozo. Nonetheless, our great leader did this anyway. _This_ is the devotion which he placed in our goals. Do you…"

Commander Arachnus, the speaker, the only arachnoid in the ranks, held the full attention of the audience. Ridley watched the audience with fascination. Arachnus could easily be one of the best speakers the Space Pirates had. _I should certainly try to understand how he does it_, Ridley thought, _it might be useful later_.

"…Tourainis himself. Immediately before this assembly, the commanders with the exception of the commander at the mother-ship deck all agreed that Tourainis' recommendation as successor was a sound one."

Ridley sensed that Arachnus was lying here; there wouldn't have been time for the commanders to meet together before this assembly started.

The thousands of Space Pirates in the audience waited in anticipation. Ridley hoped one last time that they would have chosen someone else for a needlessly complicated job.

"As such," shouted Arachnus, "the commanders of the Space Pirates unanimously promote Commander Ridley, Space Dragon and seasoned warrior, to his new position as the Second High Commander of the Space Pirates!"

For a moment, these words echoed against the walls of the valley they were in. Then, the cheering started.

_Tourainis committed suicide for this?_, Ridley wondered, trying hard not to let the relentless noise damage his psyche too much.

"Ridley? Any comments?" said Arachnus. Ridley reluctantly acknowledged the cue and moved towards the microphone in the centre of the crowd.

As he reached the open space in a sea of bodies where Arachnus waited, Ridley slowed his pace and hissed to Arachnus, "I don't do crowds! What do I say?"

Arachnus did an exaggerated bow, and whispered back, "Speak naturally. Tell them why Tourainis chose you, what you plan for as leader, and do something inspiring."

Ridley memorised that, and stepped into the range of the microphone. "Well," he said, "I am glad that you all feel confidence in my new role. I intend to honour Tourainis in the way that I now can best."

"Keep going," mouthed Arachnus, retreating into the crowd.

Ridley inwardly sighed and looked out at the Space Pirates before him.

"Before this happened, Tourainis told the commanders his intentions of inspiring you all by leading the way to the last few Chozo. He also reminded us of what the Space Pirates stand for.

"We must never waver. It is our obligation to Tourainis to always fight the enemy. As High Commander, I do not intend to compromise, and I expect that of you all.

"Tourainis was always in favour of innovation as a way of winning our war. Perhaps when the time comes, our greatest blow to the enemy will not involve death. We must remain open to change, and use it best to our advantage. Tourainis particularly wanted us to take control of this star system so that we could use Chozo technology for practical purposes. I, certainly, don't want his death to be in vain. Do you?"

Ridley could now see that Tourainis had been right; if anything, his death had created Space Pirates with unwavering devotion to the cause.

"Oh, of course. We still have one loose end," said Ridley smiling. "The Chozo temple is under siege, but none but that ill-fated party have gone in. I will take over Tourainis' role as the one who finishes off the Chozo of Zebes, as soon as I am done here.

"Remember what the Space Pirates stand for. Long live the Space Pirates! Long live Tourainis! May we never waver!" Ridley didn't bother to say any more, as he had nothing left to say, and nothing would be heard over the deafening cheers of the Space Pirates anyway.

He opened his wings for the first time in a long while, and flew to Chozodia.

* * *

_23.42_

In the few minutes it took him to reach the Chozo temple, the Space Pirates standing guard there were already standing there in anticipation of his arrival.

"Let's go," he said the moment he landed, and he and the squadron moved into the temple.

"The passage goes this way," said a space pirate behind him, pointing to a small tunnel off the main entrance chamber. "And is it true that you-"

"Later," said Ridley, smiling. These creatures were so easily distracted. It was a wonder that Tourainis had managed to band them all together.

As he walked through the halls of the temple, Ridley couldn't help but to admire the architecture. The Chozo style of design was extravagant but elegant. Ridley was impressed by the consistency of the building as well; the architectural style, whilst a bit too ornate for his tastes, didn't change at any point.

"If their technology is anywhere near as good," he mused, "this will most certainly be a great day for the Space Pirates."

They passed a large statue of a Chozo. "Pretentious fools," muttered one of the pirates beside Ridley.

Ridley, however, had fallen back into quiet thought. So here he was; new leader of the space pirates! It was hard to accept, but Ridley _knew_ that Tourainis had been right: he was the best choice… perhaps the only.

The conviction with which Tourainis had marched off to his death was amazing. Had the Chozo really killed off that squadron, or had Tourainis orchestrated his own death? It didn't matter that much, Ridley supposed, but the fact that he didn't know for sure irked him.

Ridley found out soon enough, though; for as they approached the room where the mother ship's heat sensors had located the last few Chozo, he saw, surrounded by around forty few shocked pirates, the crushed remains of a few Zebesians. Among them was Tourainis' body.

"How…?" Ridley said slowly.

One of the pirates who had been standing nearby pointed to a spot in the ceiling. "A column of stone… it fell from the ceiling onto… onto our commander…"

Ridley looked up, and saw a faint shape etched into the ceiling. A cunningly disguised last resort.

"I see," he hissed, his usual anger slowly rebuilding. "An ingeniously hidden death trap in a place of worship… what an interesting species we are dealing with here…"

He considered briefly. Should he personally avenge Tourainis, or leave that to his fellow pirates?

"We go in," he decided.

* * *

_23.50_

The last few Chozo were cornered in a large, bleak room. At the far end of the room, there was a large statue of a Chozo, probably ten times the size of the real article.

"Do we kill them?" said one of the pirates to Ridley's left.

"Not yet," said Ridley. "I'd like to do something first."

"Whatever you want, sir," said the pirate, stepping back.

Ridley scanned the room, and found a Chozo who he would have easily identified as the leader of these remnants even if he hadn't been shown many images of this one. The bird oozed an arrogant confidence that was ridiculous, considering how the Space Pirates were crushing its kind with ease.

"You are the leader," the bird said in low, solemn tones, staring at the ground.

"Yes," snapped Ridley. "You know why we have taken this planet?"

"Because you hope to find something valuable to pillage," replied the bird.

Ridley forced himself not to burn him to charcoal… yet. "You are going to die, Chozo."

The Chozo elder nodded.

Not for the first time, Ridley found his curiosity aroused by the enemy. "Why aren't you afraid?"

"Death does not scare me."

"Then why aren't you _angry_?"

The Chozo looked up and met Ridley's gaze.

Neither spoke for a moment.

The Chozo smiled weakly.

"Pirate, justice will be served. As little as I wish to kill, I know that you will die by our hands."

Ridley smirked. "Why? Blind faith?"

"We do not have faith," said the Chozo, "we have science. And you _will_ die."

"Oh, are you planning on destroying this planet with me on it?"

"Nothing so crude," said the Chozo. "We have created, I regret to say, a weapon."

Ridley's patience was starting to feel tried. The Chozo could easily be lying for some misguided purpose. Perhaps he wanted the Space Pirates to ignore the threat of the GF, running from some imaginary danger. "Then we will find your weapon," he said. "Something made by a people of your intelligence must be powerful."

The Chozo nodded, seemingly more to himself than to Ridley.

Ridley leaned in close, trying to break him. "And you know what, _bird_? We'll take this weapon of yours, and we'll use it to destroy the rest of civilisation. Ironic, isn't it?" He nodded to the pirates around him. "Kill the others."

"You'll never find it," said the Chozo, his voice wavering as the blood of the rest of his kin was spilt. "Not until it destroys you."

Ridley laughed, bringing his tail round to press the tip of it against the Chozo's throat. "What? A bomb on your person? A sonic grenade? Perhaps you hope me to believe that this temple of yours will collapse when you die? Pathetic. Even if I hadn't checked for any and everything, I have come prepared for something like this."

"You won't die yet," said the Chozo. "But you will die, and your band of pirates will die with you."

"You have no ultimate weapon, Chozo," said Ridley, maintaining his calm against the rage that was bubbling beneath the surface, reaching boiling point. "And you are going to die, knowing that I have called your bluff and that it is over for you and your kind."

The Chozo reached out and touched the spiked tip of the tail against his throat. Then he smiled. "You're not nearly as intelligent as you'd like to believe."

The dragon's patience had worn away.

With a single thrust of his tail, Ridley sealed the Chozo elder's fate… and his own.


	2. Perfect State

**ULTIMATE WEAPON  
OF THE CHOZO**

**By _tikitikirevenge_**

Disclaimer: This is a fan-made story based on the Metroid™ video game franchise by Nintendo™. All characters in this story are the property of their respective owners.

Brief note: Don't think for a moment that I condone the ultimate goals of the GF which I have portrayed. It just gives so much more meaning to the conflict, methinks. Also, please do try leaving a review, please.

* * *

**TWO – PERFECT STATE**

* * *

_GF1  
3210/4/3, 1:00_

* * *

"In the perfect state," grumbled the human Patrick Goodwill, staggering out of his sleeping chamber, "we could all sleep soundly."

"It will happen one day," said a sarcastic voice from behind him. Goodwill didn't have to look to place it as the ugly quadruped Youthanir, who occupied the living chambers beside his.

"You got the memo, too?" said Goodwill, mildly surprised. He had expected that this was simply the Council trying to appease the media, but if Youthanir was invited, then this was more pressing.

No matter that the two of them were probably the best known faces of government in the entire galaxy – the two of them could simply not be seen together. It was unthinkable, and it might lead to discovery, something which could not be allowed after all this time.

"I made a couple of calls," said Youthanir, "it sounds like the entire Council is assembled."

"What can't wait until dawn?" moaned Goodwill. "Some species need sleep, you know."

"In the perfect state," replied his friend sardonically, "the people would sleep upon demand."

* * *

_GF1_ was, literally, the centre of the entire Galactic Federation.

Access to the space station, aside from that of members of the Council and maintenance personnel, was strictly invitation only. Not just for security, though that was of course a concern, but also for secrecy. The less who understood what the Galactic Federation really stood for, the better.

After several hundred years of existence, the success of the affair was debatable. All of their superficial goals had been achieved, particularly limiting any and all wars with a single major exception, and the general public was fiercely proud of the GF, the kind of nationalistic pride that is inherent in all civilisations. But, even ignoring the obvious problem of the Space Pirates, the GF had not yet succeeded in protecting the people from their biggest threat: _themselves_.

It was understandable. The creation of the Federation had involved the merging of many different species and worlds, and such a large group would never have accepted anything other than democracy. The GF had come into being surrounded by an archaic social system, and had spent every year of its existence trying to overcome it.

In the perfect state, of course, there would be no cause for discrimination between people or peoples. It would be an essential part of everyone's education to learn that all sentient beings were equal in importance.

In the perfect state, of course, there would be no need for a system as dangerous as the media. The people would rarely have anything to be concerned about, and if they did, it would be important enough for more noticeable ways of telling them to be used.

In the perfect state, it would be wrong to allow any disagreements between individuals. As the old adage goes, familiarity breeds contempt. The best way of avoiding disagreement between people is to avoid contact between people. Individuals would be isolated, avoiding the dangers of social relations with others.

In the perfect state, there would be no crime because education would ensure that nobody would be able to comprehend the very concept of transgressing the law, let alone deciding to do so.

The people in the Council (the inner circle of bureaucrats in the GF) understood that a few of these changes might come at the expense of individual freedom, but that the result of a state, planet, _galaxy_ that was free of hostility was the only true success for civilisation.

* * *

_1:24_

The meeting hall was located in the centre of the space station. Decorations were a waste of time, so there were no windows installed. The ring-shaped table that occupied most of the room was made out of a bland synthetic material, as natural materials were easily damaged and eye-catching. The less distractions present, the more efficiently the oligarchic head of the Federation could work.

The Council filed in sombrely. Already seated was Etecreus, a red-furred shrunken creature who was easily the oldest in the room.

"I'm sorry to have woken you," said Etecreus, "but the matter we discussed a few weeks ago has undergone some serious developments."

There were a few worried murmurs around the room. Goodwill and Youthanir, as the most recent appointments to the Council, exchanged blank looks.

"My apologies," said Goodwill, taking his assigned seat, "but what exactly is that matter?"

A few heads turned in his direction.

"Ah," said Etecreus slowly in his aged voice. "I had forgotten about you two."

The muttering turned to silence as Goodwill returned Etecreus' stare.

"I've already expressed my doubts about your appointments," continued, Etecreus blandly, "but our public relations division forced you upon us."

Goodwill was only in this room, of course, because he had played a role in the federal elections, literally, only a week ago.

Nobody disputed that he was an excellent member of the bureaucracy to cast as the 'friendly' candidate (Youthanir's slightly repugnant appearance making him the 'tough' candidate), however, many in the Council were unhappy about the induction of Goodwill and Youthanir – after all, everybody in the Council performed a function, and that of puppet leader was not a very useful one.

Now, barely maintaining his composure, Goodwill said, "With all due respect, Etecreus, that is no longer important. So why don't you tell me all about this problem?"

"Fine," said Etecreus, a hint of anger seeping into his words. "Exactly fifteen days ago, an exploratory expedition discovered a large tablet with Chozo writing on it. This tablet described the existence of a powerful weapon."

"Chozo?" said Goodwill.

Etecreus pressed a key on the console hidden on the rim of the table. In the centre of the table, a holographic image of a standing avoid shimmered into view.

"The Chozo were an amazingly advanced species," explained Etecreus. "Despite their simple, mystically-driven lives, the Chozo had some of, if not the most advanced technology in the galaxy. For example, the energy-triggered doors that we now use for preventing public access to areas? Those were completely Chozo design. Some of our most advanced medical technology was copied straight from the Chozo. They were extremely important to the rapid progress of civilisation."

Patrick Goodwill nodded, taking this in. "Wait… you said '_were_'?"

"Yes. Slightly more than ten years ago, their home planet, Zebes, became the target of the first major Space Pirate raid. As you'd know, Zebes was taken over completely. There were no survivors. For all their technological expertise, the Chozo had never taken to the concept of war. They had little to defend themselves with. Chozo splinter colonies and neighbouring worlds fell pray either to Space Pirates or to other dangers shortly. Within… about six months, I would venture, the Chozo race was, as far as we know, extinct.

"Of course, it is possible that they have simply gone into hiding, but if that is so, they must have vanished off the face of the galaxy. There are no remnants, no survivors."

Etecreus paused here, sighing. "It is a pity. If they still existed, we would be so much closer to achieving complete law and order… but no matter."

"So when this writing about a weapon appeared," said Goodwill, "you must have been sceptical of a hoax?"

"We would have," said Etecreus, "but there was supporting evidence. The existence of an Ultimate Weapon would explain some strange characters in other discovered texts. The writing hinted that the weapon was focused but subtle, which seems typical of Chozo thinking. The writing was carved into a natural substance which we have long believed to be indestructible. If this is a hoax, then there is someone very advanced behind it.

"And, for that matter, if it was a hoax, then who created it? At the meeting two weeks ago, we discussed the possibility of a Space Pirate ruse, but their style seems to one more of outright war than subtle manipulations – after all, they are likely aware of our reasonable control over the masses."

Youthanir growled quietly, clearing his throats. "So what of this new development that you woke us up for?"

Etecreus closed his eyes and took a few slow breaths, then spoke.

"I'm afraid that an hour ago, the information slipped out of our grasp and reached an independent media group. They immediately started to spread the news to the public at large."

Goodwill nodded, he understood the problems that an uncensored press caused. "But that shouldn't be too much trouble to any searches…"

Etecreus glared at him, and then concluded, "Within thirty minutes of this information being released, _two_ of our most important prisoners in the war against the Space Pirates escaped from containment."

At this news, the room collapsed into an uproar, with people shouting at each other from all directions.

"Quiet!" roared Etecreus surprisingly loudly.

Silence returned to the room.

"The Space Pirates," he said slowly and commandingly, "are the greatest threat to our future, not the media, and certainly not the people."

"Which prisoners?" said someone to Goodwill's left.

"The first prisoner is Ridley, who was high commander of the Space Pirates right up to his capture," said Etecreus. "He was put into high-security containment following the destruction of Zebes."

"How the hell did he get out?" demanded Youthanir, speaking for the first time.

Etecreus glared. "Our security was not enough to compete with the fleet of full-fledged warships which arrived outside Ridley's door only minutes after the news had escaped. It's almost as if they were lying in wait. The military put up a good fight, of course, but they were outnumbered.

"Ridley, of course, would be taking a personal interest in anything related to powerful weaponry, especially if it is related to the Chozo. We can only assume that now that he is back in command, the Space Pirates will resume their former tactics."

"How's containment?" said Goodwill. Having reached the Council via Public Relations, it was the one thing he had more expertise on than any other in the room.

"Bad," said Etecreus grimly. "Considering that Planet Felonia is supposed to be our most secure prison, this is going to become top priority news in a few hours. The damage to the prison is undeniable."

"I thought Ridley had been killed," said Goodwill, recalling something he had heard in a meeting months before his election.

"You probably confuse him with our attempted clone," said Etecreus, sounding annoyed, "which we tried to create after his capture. He is, you know, the only creature of his species known to us. But that ended dismally, and we put the clone into cold storage at BSL. I believe you know how that would have ended."

"Right," said Goodwill, noting that silently.

Another councillor whose name Goodwill couldn't remember said, "Councillor Etecreus, have any other prisoners escaped from Felonia?"

"Thankfully," said Etecreus, "all of the prisoners in the area of the prison which the Space Pirates assaulted were… intelligent enough to stay indoors."

"Wasn't there a second prisoner?" said Goodwill.

"Yes," Etecreus sighed, "there was. Although the Space Pirates only broke open our larger cells, a human who we had been interrogating for information about the Space Pirates and the Chozo managed to escape in the chaos."

"Name?"

"Samus Aran, a.k.a. 'The Hunter'. You would have read her file before; she's considered one of the best bounty hunters in existence. The Federation has contracted her from time to time.

"Aran was in containment following the BSL incident. She was under charge for defying a GF order and destroying a rare species which we planned on using for our projects."

"I remember being told about that," said Goodwill. "If I recall, she managed to destroy a government computer?"

Etecreus: "Nothing that crude. She seemed to have reprogrammed it, somehow. All it does now is spit out numbers."

"Gibberish?"

Etecreus shook his head. "References to laws that would nullify our case against Aran. We wanted to keep her there for as long as possible, though on review it does seem that Aran did nothing wrong on BSL. It was just useful to have her where we could contain her.

"But we digress. As I was saying, while security was occupied with the Space Pirates, Aran disappeared off the radar. We had made her remove a custom-designed power suit for examination. Reports indicated Chozo architecture, but we couldn't get any further than the surface. None of our scanning equipment could penetrate the outer armour."

"Do we still have this armour?" asked Goodwill.

"No," said Etecreus, "Aran managed to take it out of storage. There were still seven people, mostly well-trained humans, on guard in the area. Only five of them have been found. Of those, two had their arms snapped, one was nearly killed by a collapsing storage locker, and two were dead, their heads wrenched off. We can only assume that the others had fallen out of the base through a hole in a window which is _supposed_ to be bullet-proof."

"So Aran got her suit back?" concluded Goodwill.

"Actually, she seems to have done all of this _before_ she located her power suit. And considering that the GF uses DNA-sensitive guns, we can assume she did all this completely unarmed."

"Impossible," muttered someone.

Etecreus continued, "We believe Aran then stole a fighter ship. She then left the surface of the planet, destroying two Space Pirate warships on her way out. Actually, nobody else managed to do that during the whole half-hour of battle.

"Aran and Ridley left the prison planet Felonia at roughly the same time, thirty minutes ago, in opposite directions. Nobody has seen any traces of them yet. We've attempted to recall Aran's ship, but it doesn't respond to our overrides. The Space Pirate fleet left the planet without anyone following."

Etecreus visibly relaxed, signifying the end of his speech, and the room descended into uproar again.

As people started to shout over each other, Etecreus left his seat and circled round the table to reach Goodwill. It was the first time they had been at such proximity and Goodwill couldn't help but note how small the creature was considering his position in the most powerful organisation in the galaxy.

"Goodwill," said Etecreus quietly, "I can't avoid you being here, so I shall try to make the most of it. As 'democratic leader', you're our link to the public and to PR. I need you to perform damage control. Do whatever you need to for the public to keep on working like normal, and get the half of the media we _do_ control to subtly begin a search for Aran. We need her in a Galactic Federation building, willingly or not. I doubt we can take her in by force. We're going to have to be _subtle_, if you understand me."

Goodwill nodded. "I'll do what's necessary."

"You'd better start now, then," said Etecreus, grandiosely gesturing to the door.

* * *

_GF Prison  
Planet Felonia  
1.30_

Lieutenant Pierre Vorshkatov paced around the remains of the room where escapee Samus Aran had collected her power suit.

"Please, Lieutenant," moaned a large, stocky man, curled up in a corner, "I need to get to medical."

"Medical is currently dealing with _deadly_ wounds from the pirate attack," snapped Vorshkatov. "Is a broken arm _deadly_, Olfson?"

"No, sir," whimpered the man called Olfson. "But I think the woman-"

"How much do you know about Samus Aran?" Vorshkatov demanded.

"Uh, bounty hunter, very dangerous, ex-military from your division…" the man paused as if trying to recall. "She… she was the one who did all them attacks on the Pirates, wasn't she? Sir," he added.

"Yes," said Vorshkatov. "Aran was a very valuable asset to us. Can your miniscule brain comprehend _that_, Olfson?"

"Sir, I didn't-"

"Do you _understand_?"

"Yes, sir!" barked Olfson like he'd been trained to.

"Well," replied Vorshkatov icily, "perhaps you can understand why I am slightly _angry_ that a _top security prisoner_ skipped into here and stole advanced weaponry technology from under your nose…"

"But, sir, it was hers-"

"So you let her take it, did you?"

"No, sir!"

"Explain to me, then," said Vorshkatov, anger building, "why seven guards especially trained or bred to be tough, armed with high-powered emergency pistols, happened to slack off the one time it wasn't a drill?"

Olfson shook his head, afraid. "I don't know, sir. She just jumps out of that cooling duct in the ceiling, and suddenly Roberts fell through that hard window and we tried to shoot her but she snapped my arm and… I… my arm is broken… it hurts… please, sir, don't… don't fire me, sir… we did our best…"

The man was close to tears. Vorshkatov snorted in disgust.

_Aran would know that I'm on duty in this area_, he thought. He paused for a moment, wondering if she would have left a message for him. It wouldn't be the first time.

His attention was caught again by the broken window. If someone had been thrown out, there might be a few small shards of glass left on the inside. But here there was a large one.

Vorshkatov walked over and, gingerly grabbing it by the middle, held the shard up to the fluorescent lights in the ceiling.

"Bingo," he whispered to himself, as he saw the message left in the glass, laser-engraved, no doubt.

"_Vorshkatov,_

_It's been a few years since we've spoken. How is that side business of yours going? I'd like to talk about it. How about the old place?_

_Aran._

_P.S. This isn't blackmail yet, but I have the upper hand and you know it. See you in two days._"

Pierre Vorshkatov closed his eyes briefly, wondering if he could get out of the base in two days time. But Aran knew enough about emergency protocols. If she said he could make it in two days, he could.

Feigning anger for the benefit of the crippled guards lying around him, he threw the shard out of the hole in the window violently.

Vorshkatov wondered how much Aran was planning on paying him, and whether she was really serious about ratting on him. It wasn't in character.

Then again, with Aran, you could never really predict anything.


	3. Shell

**ULTIMATE WEAPON  
OF THE CHOZO**

**By _tikitikirevenge_**

Disclaimer: This is a fan-made story based on the Metroid™ video game franchise by Nintendo™. All characters in this story are the property of their respective owners.

Brief note: I'd just like to mention that I'm pleasantly surprised by all the positive feedback I've gotten about this story so far. In case it isn't clear, I've decided that I want to make the Space Pirates and Galactic Federation seem both righteous and extremely hateable.

Thanks for reading this far, and please, do tell me what you think. All constructive criticism and purposeless praise is welcome.

* * *

**THREE – SHELL**

* * *

_Deep Space  
3210/4/3, 13:00_

* * *

The Space Pirate army was merely a shell of its former glory, back in the years before the incident now sparingly referred to as 'Zebes'. But for a shell, it was still surprisingly well-equipped, well-coordinated, and well-prepared.

Several hundred warships, large enough to sustain a small community each, flew in no particular formation along a twisting path. And for good reason – any ship attempting to follow them through such evasive manoeuvres at such speeds would have to be piloted by an extremely skilled pilot who never needed sleep.

Besides, it looked _very_ impressive. Morale rarely comes cheaply.

Usually, aboard a Space Pirate ship, there would be more than just ambient noise and people shouting orders at each other. Usually, there was a wonderful _atmosphere_ of chatter and friendliness which one simply did not find anywhere else, especially not among those up-tight grunts in the GF military.

But on this particular ship, there was no small talk, no yells of victory and relief that this fleet had ravaged the Federation, and certainly no joking or sarcastic complaints. They had decided that it would be best not to wake their passenger.

Ridley rarely needed sleep, but after an exhausting extraction after half a year in claustrophobic quarters, they had barely made it off the surface of Felonia before he had collapsed. His sprawled body took up most of the command deck, and the Space Pirates kept a wide berth, both out of respect for their newly-reinstated High Commander, and because needlessly aggravating anything that breathed fire was a bad idea, period.

At the helm of the ship, so to speak, was Sh'toutin, the Zebesian who had been chosen to fill Ridley's role as High Commander in his absence. (Although she had been chosen by a show of voices by the people, from a pool of elite Pirates, it was far more democratic than anything the Galactic Federation had ever done.)

It happened that Sh'toutin was the only Pirate on the ship who didn't chance occasional glances at Ridley. No, Sh'toutin was staring straight at him, as she had been for the past three hours, waiting with an unnatural patience.

Ridley's eyes blinked open, illuminating the darkened deck. At once, the crew of the ship stopped what they'd been doing and turned to look at him, anxious.

Ridley slowly stood up, yawning in such a way that one might mistake it for growling.

"High Commander Ridley," said Sh'toutin, bowing her head.

Instantly alert, Ridley's eyes snapped around to gaze at her. "Are we safe?"

"We're more than twelve hours away from the prison," said Sh'toutin.

"I take it that you are acting commander?" said Ridley.

"Yes."

"Yes… ah, now I remember… you had just been appointed as a commander before Zebes… but if Arachnus wasn't my replacement, then…"

"Dead," she said, head still facing the floor. "He died with the planet. We found his body on the surface of SR388 about a week ago. It had been infected by an indigenous parasite. A burial was inadvisable, so we performed a cremation from a distance."

"A pity," said Ridley, his face not betraying a hint of his real feelings. "I'd be interested to know why it took you so long to let me out."

"My apologies," said Sh'toutin, head lifting to meet his stare. "Your capture presented us with a temporary reprieve from GF scrutiny. I have spent these past months working to establish subtle controls in high places. We have most of the information that the GF has, loyal citizens of the Federation with commercial ties, and most importantly, we now have the information necessary to expose their façade."

"It won't work," said Ridley, "the public will never believe us after over ten years of relentless propaganda. We need to weaken them, both from within and without, and while we can achieve the former, they are still too strong to- of _course_. That's why you waited six months?"

"The Chozo weapon."

"Yes," said Ridley. "I heard people talking about it for the last few minutes before your attack. You were lying in wait." It wasn't a question, it was simply a fact.

"It was my decision," said Sh'toutin. "My apologies for waiting so long."

"If what you have said about expanding our influence is true, then there are no hard feelings about that. I simply grew… impatient. Oh, in case I didn't mention earlier, I'll resume my role as High Commander, and you as commander, all duties and so on, etcetera ad infinitum, effective now."

Sh'toutin bowed. "Thank you, sir."

"Call me Ridley," said the Space Pirate leader absent-mindedly, staring out into the void as though searching for something. "Did anyone else escape Felonia? Perhaps a human?"

Sh'toutin considered. "Now that you mention it, they were shouting about a human escapee as we left. Why?"

"Aran," said Ridley.

Sh'toutin swore loudly. "High C- _Ridley_, I didn't realise…"

"It's in the past," said Ridley. "Idle curiosity. I doubt we would have been able to get to her, anyway." He paused for a moment. "I'm sorry, Commander. Your name…?"

"Sh'toutin," she replied.

"Of course… female?"

"Yes."

In the back of his mind, Ridley wondered if there were any visual cues to separate Zebesians by gender. Then his thoughts drifted to Aran, and wondered if she would know about rumours of the weapon.

A Chozo weapon…

…it had been about ten years now, hadn't it?

"I believe it is time to start to end this war," he said quietly. "The Federation has had its day."

The atmosphere suddenly loosened around him and the Zebesians on board the ship were once again scurrying around, performing their various tasks.

Satisfied that the Space Pirates were as good a fighting force as they had been the day Zebes fell, Ridley turned his attention to the Zebesian commander.

"These people you have brought to our side," said High Commander Ridley. "Who are they?"

"You'd be surprised, sir," Sh'toutin said, a hint of a smile forming.

* * *

_Planet Terra  
20:00_

Greed begets wealth, and wealth begets greed.

Geoffrey Wilcox, CEO of the Purox Corporation, was a prime example of this.

An innocent child might believe that, having all the riches he'd ever need, near-complete control of the market for hyperfuel, and strong influence within the GF to boot, Wilcox would never have reason to want more. But to him, it was no longer the accumulation of wealth – it was the only thing left to his life, now that the trivialities he had first enjoyed after success had become mundane.

Staring out of the window, he gazed down at the endless urban sprawl of planet Terra, complemented by the setting sun. There was a kind of beauty to it, but it was lost upon Wilcox. All he saw was his own reflection in the glass.

A low tone from a ceiling-mounted speaker alerted him to the person who had just entered the room.

Inwardly sighing, Wilcox amused himself with a guess as to who had entered. There were two organisations from which he had allowed representatives to speak with him, no questions asked.

"The Federation, I presume?" he said.

"Yes," replied the visitor. His voice had a throaty quality which made Wilcox suspect that he was one of the toad-like Squalbs, a minority species.

"Your name…?" Wilcox enquired, turning around.

"Jipfig," replied the creature. Wilcox glanced at its face and flinched at the sight of it. Squalbs were known for their strategic thinking, not for their looks.

"I'm afraid I don't know you," Wilcox finally said, plastering a fake smile onto his face.

"I'm with the Galactic Federation," Jipfig said, waving an identification card.

"The commerce department?"

"Actually," it said smugly, "I'm on the advisory council for Patrick Goodwill."

"Ah," said Wilcox, "a very important position, indeed. Please, take a seat." He gestured to his desk, located in the centre of the room.

"No, thank you."

"I trust this isn't a social call?" continued Wilcox.

"Of course not," said Jipfig. "In fact, if you've been following the news, you might have guessed my reasons for being here."

"This issue with Felonia?"

"Exactly. How much do you know?"

"I understand," said Wilcox, "that the Space Pirates launched an attack of some description on the prison planet. They freed their leader, the dragon Ridley."

"Exactly," said Jipfig. "Prior to this trouble, we have had six months of Pirate inactivity. With Ridley's escape, that's over. We're at war again."

Wilcox nodded. "And my orders…?"

"We need more hyperfuel for our military. As before, we're willing to pay you for it, on good faith."

"Absolutely," said Wilcox. "I'll arrange shipments straight away."

"One other thing," said the creature, "We believe that the Space Pirates have found a way of obtaining hyperfuel. It could be a respectable person buying in bulk from you. Perhaps someone inside your organisation is giving fuel away to the Pirates. Either way, keep a close watch. Your trade is going to play an important role in the coming conflicts, and we don't want the Pirates to get any help if we can help it."

Wilcox frowned. "If the Space Pirates were getting fuel from my company, I'm sure I'd know about it… but, yes, I'll keep an eye out."

"Thank you," said Jipfig. "Mr Goodwill appreciates your help."

"Of course he does," murmured Wilcox, as Jipfig left.

He paused for a moment, and then strode to his desk and to the 33rd century telephone lying upon it. He began to dial.

_I wonder how the Pirates feel about my doing business with the Federation_, thought Geoffrey Wilcox. _I'm sure they wouldn't discriminate_.


	4. Wreck

**ULTIMATE WEAPON  
OF THE CHOZO**

**By _tikitikirevenge_**

Disclaimer: This is a fan-made story based on the Metroid™ video game franchise by Nintendo™. All characters in this story are the property of their respective owners.

Brief note: I'm finding that I'm really enjoying writing this story. This is the first time I've focused on Samus, so I sincerely hope that the portrayal I've made does her justice.

And as before, feedback is more than welcome. In fact, I demand it. Now! Now! (Well, read the chapter _then_ pass judgement.)

* * *

**FOUR – WRECK**

* * *

'_The Rugsweeper'  
Planet Terra  
3210/4/5, 21:00_

* * *

"You look a wreck," commented Jelsib (or as he was known, 'Jib'), the molluscoid bartender-come-owner of the Rugsweeper. "You wanna tell me what's wrong?"

"Just a bad week," said Pierre Vorshkatov, leaning against the bar counter. "Got a free table?"

"A _table_? My, we're classy tonight," smiled Jib, pointing at a dimly-lit corner. "All laughs aside, though, Pierre, I wouldn't want a week anything _like_ yours, no matter how much you get paid for it. First that Pirate thing happened right under your nose, then Armstrong Houston has the nerve to get himself killed in one of your ships-"

"Thanks," said Vorshkatov, smiling but starting to turn away, "but I really don't appreciate you talking about my night job so loud."

"Fine, fine," said the bartender, casually juggling a few capsules of what looked like acid. "You got a business meeting?" When Vorshkatov nodded, he added, "Who with?"

"I'd rather not say," said Vorshkatov.

"Hmm… someone I don't like, who you'd invite," nodded Jib, rolling one of the acid capsules across the counter to a patron. "Is it that amph who got into a fistfight with you? No? Then it'd be the lovely lady who killed that Fed in front of all the customers, eh?"

Uncomfortable, Pierre nodded and made to go to his table.

"Ask her not to break anything this time," Jelsib called after him.

* * *

It was a commonly accepted fact that the Rugsweeper was the most relaxed bar you could find in the ecumenopolis of planet Terra. Jelsib had created the bar from scratch some forty years back, and had never, it was rumoured, left the premises since.

A hardened businessman might believe that, rarely having the time or money for personal extravagances, never travelling or seeing his name plastered across billboards galaxy-wide, Jelsib would never have reason to feel satisfied. But to him, this wasn't about the accumulation of wealth – this was his life, and he revelled in the trivialities of his day-to-day business, conversing with customers, showing amiability to everyone from the most tight-faced bureaucrats to the most seedy criminals and bounty hunters (not that either extreme was typical fare).

Considering what he dealt with every day, 'Jib' didn't particularly care how many Galactic Federation ships Vorshkatov loaned out to well-paying people, or how many laws Vorshkatov broke in selling cheaper hyperfuel to Rugsweeper patrons who wanted it.

On the contrary, Jib was quite supportive of Pierre's 'night job', as long as he did it inside his bar, and there was an unspoken mutual confidence among the regular patrons of the Rugsweeper – Vorshkatov didn't need to worry about losing his day job that way.

* * *

_GF1_

"…but are you certain?"

"Absolutely," said Jipfig, bowing. "Wilcox didn't know anything about the rat in Purox."

"Then perhaps he has become too relaxed after Zebes," said Etecreus. "You said earlier that Purox Corp. was becoming very profitable while the Space Pirates went into hiding."

"Yes," said Jipfig. "Actually, even without our contracts with him and with reduced prices, Wilcox seems to have made an extraordinary amount of money in the inte-"

"That's your concern, not mine," interrupted the small red councillor. "As long as everybody outside of GF1 is working as hard as we are to crush the opposition, I am satisfied."

"Absolutely," said Jipfig. "If that is all, then, Councillor-"

"Call me Etecreus. And yes, you may go."

As Jipfig left Etecreus' office, he remained still in his seat, hands pressed together.

Then, he switched on the intercom. "Councillor Goodwill, please."

After a pause: "Etecreus. Regarding the situation… yes, yes, very good… has your division located the fugitive? ...yes, if you can, pick her up. If anybody knows anything about the Chozo weapon, it's Aran. Let me speak to her as soon as possible."

* * *

'_The Rugsweeper'  
21.14_

"For goodness' sake, just let me in, okay?"

Their real names weren't _really_ 'Spick' and 'Rod'. But the bouncers who Jelsib had employed to keep out the Feds seemed comfortable with the nicknames he'd given them (and, as Rod had confessed to him privately, they didn't actually _have_ real names, or if they had, they'd forgotten them). The person who they were now blocking off from the door was not going to be let in for two reasons.

Firstly, this clearly wasn't the kind of person who was here to get drunk. _Everybody_, no matter what else they did there, went to the Rugsweeper for enjoyment.

Secondly, the woman seemed a bit cocky. Considering that the bouncers outnumbered her both in number, size, and sheer strength, she was likely feeling good about herself because she thought she was getting away with something.

With a shared glance, Spick and Rod both seemed to agree that the human was probably a GF agent. Nothing new; there was always somebody trying to sneak in and arrest some lawbreaker or catch some ee-legal transaction. Jib had made it quite clear that they were _not_ to let anybody in, especially when an important customer like Vorshkatov was around. The military man had apparently done wonders for Jib's sales, which meant more pay for Spick and Rod.

The woman suddenly changed tact. "Look, I'll just be five minutes, okay? I really, _really_ need-"

"I'm sorry," said Rod, "you're not going inside."

"Just go," said Spick, "now."

"Scram," added Rod helpfully.

The woman wasn't moving. "Ask Vorshkatov. He's inside. He'll-"

"Vorshkatov?" said Rod. "Nobody called that." This was serious. He'd have to tell Jib about this as soon as she left. He glanced at his friend, who nodded.

"All right, _ma'am_," sneered Spick, "I don't want to be able to _see_ you in five seconds. Five…"

"Let me in," she repeated.

"Four…"

Spick and Rod both stepped forward from the door to give themselves a bit of manoeuvring room. In all honesty, the threat should have been enough to make the GF agent go. They were at least one-and-a-half time her size each, and they'd killed bigger people than her before.

"Three…"

"We will have to hurt you," warned Rod.

"Two…" said Spick.

The woman carefully put down the satchel she had slung over her shoulder.

"One…"

Nobody moved.

"Don't hurt her too much," said Spick.

* * *

_21.20_

"And it _has_ to be back by the eighth, okay?"

Whoever Vorshkatov was speaking to nodded (a full-body cloak completely obscured his vision) and went back to his or her table.

Pierre sighed and settled back into his seat, reaching for his cup again.

The main entrance to the Rugsweeper opened and Samus Aran walked in, looking slightly flushed. She looked around the room, spotted him, and headed over.

Jib stopped pouring the drink he was making and pointedly stared at Samus. "Aran," he called, "I think you still owe me for destroying those tables in the corner."

Samus didn't break her stride, but reached into a satchel which was slung over her shoulder and tossed something from it to Jelsib.

"And this is…?"

"Pure hyperfuel," called Samus, reaching Vorshkatov's table and sitting. "In a day or two, the price for that is going to skyrocket. Should be enough to build a couple thousand more tables."

Jib nodded and turned back to his bartending.

Pierre Vorshkatov sighed and shifted uncomfortably.

Samus turned to him as if she had just noticed him.

"Pierre," she said, "what a pleasant surprise."

"What the hell were you talking about, 'blackmail'?" snapped Vorshkatov.

"Don't trust me?" said Samus pleasantly. "It was just to see your reaction."

"I'm sure," said Vorshkatov, taking a gulp of pure alcohol. "I get the feeling that you don't really like me, Aran. Why would that be?"

Samus' gaze turned icy. "Ten and a half years ago. You screwed up, _Lieutenant_, and your little escapades in the Rugsweeper nearly destroyed the GF and the last few good people in it.

"I told you before," said Vorshkatov, raising his hands placidly, "I'm sorry it ever happened. You know I'd never-"

Samus interrupted, "This conversation is over. And if you ever, _ever_ so much as _think_ about it again, I'll kill you, just like I killed… like I…"

Samus broke off, looking flustered. Then her face had hardened and the sign of weakness had vanished.

"I'm going to need a ship, something which can fly fast off the beaten track."

Vorshkatov nodded. "Sure, sure… you have money?"

"Hyperfuel," Samus said, pulling a capsule of the liquid out of the satchel.

"Where are you getting that all from?" said Vorshkatov.

Samus shrugged. "I'd tell you, but you wouldn't believe me."

Vorshkatov pulled a scrap of paper from his pocket and scribbled down on it. "Okay," he said, "these are the launch codes you'll need. The ship is in the main reserve an hour's walk from here-"

"-and bring it back in a couple of days, etcetera, thanks for your time," Samus concluded. "It was nice to see you again, Pierre. Don't get caught." She stood, flicked off an imaginary speck of dust from her top, and made to leave.

At that moment, the bouncer called Spick stumbled inside and started shouting. "Jib! Jib, there's a problem!"

Jelsib didn't look up. "The woman is just leaving."

"No, not _her_," said the bouncer, glancing contemptuously at Samus. "The security thing, it said… uh… there are military dudes coming!"

"_What?_" said Jib. "Undercover?"

"No, those cameras you put into the back alleys, there are like a million of them - freelancers."

'Freelancers' was the unofficial name for a division of the GF military for which the conventional niceties of chain-of-command and holding fire didn't apply. Composed of some of the best soldiers in the Federation, there were seven separate divisions in it. There had once been eight.

"They'd be after me," said Samus, walking towards the door.

The patrons of the Rugsweeper glanced at each other briefly. Roughly ten percent of them could be wanted by the GF for one reason or another. The conversations came to a halt and a few people got up.

"_Aran_!" said Vorshkatov. "Even if you leave, they're going to search the place out. If they find _me_, they'll…"

Samus didn't even glance in his direction; she said, "Pierre, go hide under a table. I don't owe you any favours and you know that."

"What would he think of you saying that?" said Vorshkatov.

"Keep on talking about it, and I will kill you."

Vorshkatov waited. Samus looked at him, briefly relishing the look of desperation and fear on his face.

"You're not getting me to do anything for you," she said.

Vorshkatov almost snapped, "I preferred you ten years ago." The remark was cutting and caught her off-guard.

Disgusted, Samus turned back. "Fine. You want me to save your sorry little behind? So be it. But you owe me."

"What do you want?" said Vorshkatov, trying to sound calm.

"Well, for starters…" Samus glanced back around the bar. Several patrons were making their way out via back exits. "If the Feds out there are anywhere near as good as our team was, all the exits are covered. You can't hide…"

Samus stroked her chin with a finger tip for a moment. "Yes… okay, Pierre, do you have a panic button on you?"

"Yes; why?" said Vorshkatov. Reasonably-important personnel in the bureaucracy and military were given an emergency tracking device-come-flare for situations where they were in danger. Pierre pulled his out of a side pocket of his combat jacket.

Samus grabbed it from him and turned it on. "That should confuse them; slow them down for a moment." She could picture it now: the 'freelance' team detecting an emergency beacon from a surviving Eighth Freelancer. It would, she hoped, give them another ten seconds.

"Everyone!" shouted Jelsib. "Act normally, like we don't know they're coming!"

The people who hadn't left uncomfortably began to talk again.

"What now?" said Vorshkatov. "Now they know I'm here, what do I tell them I was doing?"

"_That's_ easy," said Samus disdainfully. "I'm just wondering how I get out if… right, I'm going to need that hyperfuel back."

Pierre shrugged and returned her payment to her. "Looks as if you get the ship for free," he said.

Ignoring him, Samus weighed the tennis-ball-sized capsule of fuel in her hands, tossing it slightly.

"Okay," she said, squeezing the capsule into a pocket on her top, "take this." She pulled an ugly-looking firearm from her bag – a electrified pistol; perhaps not strong enough to do more than stun tough species like Amphibs and Zebesians, but perfect for dealing with the mainly human GF military. As far as conventional firearms went, it was her favourite kind; such guns had helped her out of worse spots than this before.

"That reminds me," said Vorshkatov, "what happened to the armour?"

"Attracts too much attention," said Samus. "Slip that into your belt or something, thanks."

He did.

"Right," said Samus, "we should have about three more seconds…" She roughly grabbed Pierre Vorshkatov by the shoulders and slammed him onto the table, and then climbed on top of him.

"That's crazy; they won't believe that!" said Vorshkatov, suddenly comprehending.

"Do your best," said Samus, and then, without any real conviction, started to kiss him.

At that moment, every door in the Rugsweeper burst open, and roughly a dozen GF Freelancers swept inside, eerily silent.

Samus pushed herself away from Vorshkatov and turned her head to face the front door, where several well-armed troops stood.

"What the hell?" she said. She looked completely shocked.

"Samus Aran," said one of the men, "by order of our Democratic Leader Goodwill himself, we request that you come with us."

"Play along," whispered Samus to Vorshkatov, before shoving an elbow into his throat. Out loud, she said, "Pierre? Why are there _freelancers_ in here?"

"I don't know," said Vorshkatov in what he hoped was an unconvincing voice.

Samus chanced a glance at Jib, the only person in the room who would definitely see through the farce; he was watching the proceedings with a slight smile.

"Is this your idea of a 'chat', Pierre? I _trusted_ you; what the hell did I do to you to deserve this?"

"Samus," said Vorshkatov, "you're wanted by the Gal-fed. I didn't have a choic-"

Samus pulled him up by the neck and hit him in the face.

"Aran," said the same Freelancer, "let go of the man."

"Oh, right," laughed Samus sarcastically, "as if he didn't call you in here."

With no small satisfaction, she noticed that the soldiers were exchanging a few confused looks. Silently grateful that Pierre had put it in easy reach; Samus kneed her companion in the stomach and pulled her pistol out from his belt, pointing it squarely at Vorshkatov's head.

"Okay," she yelled, "I'm only going to say this once. If any of you shoot, your little snitch friend here dies."

She pulled Vorshkatov up again and, with the pistol still levelled at his head, pushed him gently, leading him to the door. There were about eight equally unattractive firearms levelled at her.

As she marched him out, Vorshkatov muttered, "Did you have to hit so hard?"

Without a trace of remorse in her voice, Samus whispered back, "Looks real."

When they reached the door, she stopped.

The soldier closest to her, barely a meter away, said, "Don't be a fool, Aran. You can't drag him around forever. We'll follow you."

"I don't doubt it," said Samus, letting go of Vorshkatov. With her free hand, she reached into her pocket and withdrew the hyperfuel capsule. Pistol still pointed at Vorshkatov's head, she opened the front door slowly, revealing four more Freelancers, also with guns drawn.

"What's that in your hand?" the man, probably their leader, said. Behind him, the other Freelancers had moved together into formation. She was surrounded on both sides.

Slowly, Samus knelt down. "This?" she said, holding the hyperfuel up, above her head. "Hyperfuel. I'm planning on bribing you with it."

The man laughed. "You should know that that will never happen. Why you even brought that with – oh hell, get _down_!"

The warning was too late and would have been useless regardless. Bracing herself, Samus tossed the capsule of concentrated hyperfuel above her head, and swiftly swung her pistol arm up – and shot it.

A hundred years ago, shooting even that little hyperfuel with an electrifying weapon would have been fatal: the fuel would have ignited, vaporising everything within a ten metre radius and scorching everything twice as far away. After too many industrial accidents, though, the chemical had been refined. It was still volatile, not deadly.

All the blast did was to melt the tip of Samus' gun, rendering it useless, and temporarily blind everybody close enough to the blast: Samus, Vorshkatov, everybody in the Rugsweeper who could see the door, and, of course, the entire Federal Military Fifth Freelance Unit.

The Freelancers' immediate response was to start firing at the spot where Samus had been a second before. About a third of them were instantly knocked out by the crossfire before somebody had the sense to yell "Don't shoot!"

The effect of the hyperfuel explosion varied between species. For the human-only Freelancers, their vision had partially returned after about twenty seconds. Nobody had been badly hurt, except for Pierre Vorshkatov, the lieutenant who had had, it seemed, bad judgement in trying to catch the fugitive by himself.

Samus Aran had already gone by then, of course, brushing her hand against the walls of alleyways as she ran down a route she had already memorised before she entered the Rugsweeper.

* * *

_23.00_

At roughly 11 that night, a small exploratory ship was stolen from a military base. It was found barely ninety minutes later; the ship's self-destruct cycle activated. The GF military explained to the bureaucracy that it was most likely a reckless pilot, stealing a ship for thrill-seeking. It was hardly anything new. The pilot had probably accidentally activated the self-destruct, and panicked. The military did not explain why no remains were found in the wreckage.

Early the next day, Vorshkatov was chastised for his unsanctioned attempt to capture Samus Aran. If anybody connected him to the stolen ship, they said nothing about it.


	5. Lull

**ULTIMATE WEAPON  
OF THE CHOZO**

**By _tikitikirevenge_**

Disclaimer: This is a fan-made story based on the Metroid™ video game franchise by Nintendo™. All characters in this story are the property of their respective owners.

Brief note: I could keep on thanking everyone for the reviews (which I do), but that might get monotonous after the number of chapters which I have guessed this story will span. Actually, this chapter marks the first of two series of what I suppose you could call flashbacks.

This chapter took an amazing amount of time to write, compared to the others so far. I really slowed down once I started getting into the descriptions of the creatures at the end, and how their society worked… is writing about them a taboo or something? It seems as if nobody has done it. Anyway, it's all part of my grand master plan for this story, which has a clear-cut beginning and end, but as of yet lacks a middle.

Read, review, etcetera - All comments are welcome! (Under some sensible definition of 'all').

* * *

**FIVE – LULL**

* * *

_GF Local Headquarters  
Planet Terra  
3210/4/6, 12:00_

* * *

…there was a lulling silence for one brief moment. Then the man sitting at the desk spoke again.

"What went wrong?" said Goodwill.

"We don't know, sir," confessed 'Morte', the leader of FL-5.

"It's just one woman," continued the supposed elected leader of the Galactic Federation, as if he hadn't heard. "You had blueprints, you had guns; she _should_ be sitting in an interrogation room right now."

"Are you aware of the woman's record, President?" said the military man.

Patrick Goodwill hesitated, and then said uncertainly, "A bounty hunter…"

"Perhaps I will sit down," said 'Morte', helping himself to a seat.

They were in a small, private chamber, a fair distance off the ground. Like most major buildings on Terra, the GF offices were hundreds of storeys high.

"If I recall," said Goodwill slightly more certainly, "the woman had been a valuable tool in our fight against the Space Pirates. She shut down their Zebes operation. But that was using some kind of advanced power suit…"

"That's correct, sir," said 'Morte'. "It doesn't seem, though, that you were briefed on her military record beforehand. An impressive one, at that."

"She served with us?" said Goodwill, the surprise evident on his face.

"In a Freelancer unit, too, believe it or not. FL-8."

Here Morte paused to see Goodwill's reaction. A flicker of fear passed through the President's face.

"I am told, sir," continued Morte, "that the leader of that unit stumbled onto certain information about some secret of the GF's. I am also told that this is directly related to his death."

"Listen, soldier," said Goodwill, trying to sound unimpressed, "whatever rumours you hear are irrelevant. I can tell you for a fact that the Freelancer called 'King' died heroically during the Dual Front battle. It had nothing to do with anything he found out."

Morte paused, looking almost gleeful. "So he discovered something…?"

"Where the hell is Aran?" said Goodwill.

"Some other Freelancer teams have been working alongside your public relations and they found nothing, sir."

"She's disappeared, then?" said Goodwill.

Morte shrugged. "As far as I know. She could have left the planet…"

Patrick Goodwill frowned. "Problematic. Okay, then. Keep looking. If she doesn't turn up on Terra, extend the search. Bringing her in _alive_ is a priority, right below preparing for the Pirates."

Morte flipped his arm up as if trying to salute with minimal energy, then left.

* * *

_Deep Space  
12:00_

She had left a customised ship floating in a barren region of space, on the contingency that the one she had in use was badly damaged in battle. If it hadn't been for government scrutiny after her infection, she would already have collected it.

It was an elegant model, identical in shape to the ship she had taken to Zebes merely months before. Several years ago, she had hand-painted it to match the orange-and-red designs on her power suit.

Samus now sat in the pilot's seat, not controlling the ship, but rather letting it drift through space. She considered the syringes filled with caffeine stored in the back of her ship, then decided against it. She was in no immediate danger, and she could use the sleep.

As Samus drifted through space, so too did her thoughts…

She was well aware that if there really was an all-powerful Chozo weapon, she would be the one person most likely to know anything about it. But right now, Samus didn't intend on sharing her experiences with the Chozo with the Galactic Federation until she understood what they wanted with it. Surely they could hold off the Space Pirates with their considerable military force.

Besides, Chozo weaponry? The Chozo had been passive by nature, reacting to threats rather than instigating battles. Why would such a peaceful species make a devastating weapon?

It made no sense…

* * *

_Planet K2L  
3185/6/1, 16.30_

"Abominable," said Fliriit in his native tongue. "We can no longer deny the danger that they pose."

His companion, Kireil, nodded in assent. "True, but that concern is secondary. Our primary goal-"

Fliriit shrugged. "Do _you_ see any signs of survivors?"

"No," Kireil said, "but _that_ is why we are outside of the ship."

They split up and began their search. About twenty minutes later, Fliriit called out, "I have one!"

Kireil broke off from her search and ran towards his call in that graceful, birdlike way that was unique to their species.

When she reached him, she smiled. "Excellent."

Four hours ago, K2L had been a small human colony. All that was left now were the blackened shells of buildings, and charred human remains. Mostly, at least.

What Fliriit had found was a human child. Her body was trapped underneath another corpse, which had evidently saved her from the blasts.

"This is wonderful news," said Kireil, "but hurry. We have little time left."

Gently but efficiently, they cast aside the corpse, and Fliriit then gently took the human girl into his arms.

They made haste to their ship, a small research vessel.

Another voice, that of their director, Izech's, crackled into being over the radio. "Fliriit, Kireil, abandon the search. The others are arriving."

Kireil glanced at Fliriit, smiling widely, as she started the engines.

"I nearly forgot," muttered Fliriit, reaching for the panel which activated the microphone. "We found one, Izech."

There was no response for a few seconds, and then their director's voice came back over the line. "That is wonderful news. And only twenty-three planets… do not lose the child, then… it _is_ a hatchling, of course?"

"Definitely," said Fliriit.

"I'll see you two in the mirror room, then."

Fliriit turned to his companion, beaming. "This can only be good for our reputation."

"Yes," Kireil mused. "A promotion is probably in order, if not several."

"Let us go," said Fliriit.

* * *

The girl didn't cry. Right now, there was fear, and mourning was not as important as living. The two bird people who had taken her away from the horrors didn't seem too scary. But you could never be sure with aliens.

The girl whimpered, and shrunk away.

The aliens were talking to each other in a strange chirping way, kind of like, well, like birds. She smirked slightly, briefly forgetting why she was there.

"Who is that?" The voice had come out of nowhere, a bit like the telephones that had been in her house. It sounded like a man, with a gruff, harried-sounding voice.

The two bird people looked at the girl. One of them went over to her and knelt down.

"Are you okay?" he said kindly.

The girl was startled for a moment; she didn't realise that they spoke English. "Yes… sir," she said.

The other bird thing, she saw, was also talking in English now. "This is an observatory vessel," it said, "We mean no harm."

"What're you doing here?" the voice said. "Haven't you noticed that there were pirates here?"

"We were looking for survivors," the bird replied.

"_Kireil…_" mouthed the bird next to the girl, looking scandalised.

Making pains to make it subtle, the girl slowly shifted away from him.

The voice said, "Did you find any? Survivors, I mean."

"No."

"I see." The voice sounded sad now. "We're just going to check, anyway, then. They're… thank you."

"All luck to you," said the bird, stepping away from what the girl supposed was a phone (though it looked nothing like any phone she'd ever seen).

* * *

_20.00_

"After all that time," said Avizo, gazing down at the arriving scout vessel, and at the small human girl being gently escorted from it. "A human. We are finally ready."

"Is it moral to keep her?" said Izech. Though not as old or weathered as Avizo, he had the rare qualities of intelligence _and_ caution, and Avizo, had taken the younger scientist under his wing, puns aside.

Avizo deliberated his response, remaining silent for at least half a minute. Finally, he spoke.

"Perhaps it isn't moral. Perhaps all of our other specimens are equally horrendous. But there is purpose to this; there is a greater good."

"The ends don't always justify-" Izech began.

With a subtle shake of the head, Avizo cut him off mid-speech. "The other elders and I are agreed that the freedom of the Chozo species – indeed, the freedom of all sentient creatures – is being threatened by two parties. The more averse of them, the Space Pirates… perhaps the Galactic Federation can stop them from their destructive crusade, righteous though it may be. But even so, we have the quiet enemy to worry about…"

With a thunderclap, the sky opened and a torrent of rain cascaded down upon them.

"But violence is not our way," protested Izech. "What good would studying the physiology of all the creatures in the _galaxy_ be if we intend to use our knowledge to kill them?"

Below them, the child and the two researchers who had found her entered the tunnel that led from the Great Crater to Chozodia.

Staring straight down at the door through which the other Chozo had gone, as if trying to see them through stone and metal, Avizo continued to speak.

"That, my friend, is why we also must gain insight on the psychology of these creatures. Humans are especially important… they are a majority in the Galactic Federation… they say one must know thy enemy…"

Izech looked directly at Avizo, and waited until the older researcher met his stare. Then, with as much confidence as he could muster, Izech said, "Would you and the other elders have us kill?"

Avizo shook his head solemnly.

"It is the paradoxical curse of our species," he said, rasing his voice to be heard over the rising rainstorm. "We Chozo are inherently not a violent people, in body, minds, hearts… I doubt that we would ever willingly raise a hand against another species.

"But we are the only ones who can create the shelter to weather the coming storm. And whatever device it is that holds back our two enemies, it will have to be a weapon. And that is the paradox. A Chozo could never knowingly use a weapon to kill. But we cannot trust other species with a weapon of Chozo design, for a Chozo weapon would be powerful, and I am yet to meet a non-Chozo who doesn't like power… pitiful…"

Izech said nothing, instead standing there, continuing to stare at Avizo with a resigned sadness, until the rain became too much for him to bear. Then, he turned to leave.

"Be honest," called Avizo after him. "Keep her conscious, like we did with the Zebesian specimen. Perhaps that will make you feel more moral."

Izech nodded, but didn't reply. He continued to walk until he was inside, with the cold of the rain far behind him.


	6. Dissection

**ULTIMATE WEAPON  
OF THE CHOZO**

**By _tikitikirevenge_**

Disclaimer: This is a fan-made story based on the Metroid™ video game franchise by Nintendo™. All characters in this story are the property of their respective owners.

Brief note: After re-reading the previous chapter (thanks to alleycat1312 for pointing this out), I have come to the conclusion that it was completely ambiguous in its treatment of the Chozo. Hopefully I've corrected that in this chapter to some degree.

* * *

**SIX – DISSECTION**

* * *

_GF Archaeological Site #843  
Planet Septer (SR261)   
3210/4/08, 7:40_

Dissecting the Chozo written language was proving to be impossible. Doctor Lionel Rivers was one of the most skilled linguists in the Galactic Federation, but he was beginning to doubt whether he would be able to read the carvings, even given all the time in the world. Considering his reputation, this was something of an annoyance.

It didn't help that the GF representative he was talking with over the videophone seemed just as impatient for further progress.

"It's not that we're not _making_ headway; we _can't_ make headway," he said, trying to maintain his calm.

The GF person, a man around the age of forty, with a military air to the way he held himself, shook his head dismissively. "Doctor Rivers, you and your team are specialists. You know fully well that you're not here on a vacation, so just work harder, and-"

"This language is unique," interjected Rivers.

"Oh? In what way?" the other man sneered. Dr Rivers briefly tried to remember his name, then gave up. It didn't really matter. It was just another military grunt with a couple of stripes on his shoulder, who thought he knew everything about everything. Rivers had had to deal with the type before, and he didn't approve.

"The lines of text along the side; those we've already deciphered, and they work similarly to English and all other written languages in the GF. But the body of the text… it isn't natural. It's like no other script… I don't think it's meant to be-"

The bubble door behind him opened, and Rivers stopped mid-sentence to turn and see who had entered.

One of his colleagues, a man of fifty named Jeffry Brown, was now standing in the doorway, looking flustered.

"Make it quick," said Rivers, "I'm talking with the Feds." Noting the fear on his friend's face, he added, "What's wrong?"

Brown told him.

Shocked, Rivers turned back to the GF man on the video screen. "Did you hear that?"

The military man didn't respond, instead almost _sprinting_ out of view, shouting, "Officer!"

* * *

_25 years earlier  
Chozodia Temple  
Planet Zebes   
3185/6/2, 9:13_

"Will this hurt?" said the human child, lying on her back on the table.

"Yes," said Avizo, flicking the switch.

It did hurt. The pain lasted for what felt like an eternity but was probably half a minute. She felt out of breath. She wondered if she had screamed.

"Why are you doing this?" she managed. "…sir," she added, not meaning to offend the kind-looking bird.

"The people who destroyed your home were bad people," said Avizo slowly.

"Then why are you hurting _me_?"

The ten or so Chozo scientists surrounding the two of them moved around the 'operating room', barely giving a glance to their latest specimen. They had become used to it after the first few dozen.

Avizo smiled. "You are a lot more intelligent than you appear, young lady. How old are you?"

The girl considered. "Five… no, four. I'm five next year," she explained.

"Ah," said Avizo, smiling warmly. "Well, you're very… tough, for a human of your age. I haven't seen you cry at all."

"I don't cry," said the girl, beaming. "My parents say that it makes me… you didn't answer my question!" she finished, indignantly.

"You're right, I didn't," said Avizo, nodding. "Well…"

"Ready!" said Izech, one of Avizo's favourite junior scientists.

"Just a moment," said Avizo. "Try to relax. This should feel more comfortable."

Avizo nodded, and another Chozo turned the switch.

This time, it didn't hurt as much. There was a slight tingling as the electrodes on her forehead and back gave her a slight zap, but after that, she didn't feel anything… no, not quite true. She felt strangely _annoyed_, not really _at_ anyone, just… uncomfortable, and restless. In her agitation, she bit her tongue, which hurt, of course. The feeling of-

"-and… _stop_," said Avizo.

And it was over again. The girl exhaled slowly.

"Are you still all right?" said Avizo.

"Yes," said the girl, uncertainly. "That was very strange…"

"You wanted to know why we are doing this," Avizo said.

"Yes," said the girl.

"You deserve that knowledge. All of you did." Avizo paused, trying to decide how best to phrase it. "We are trying to find a way of preventing evil from spreading through this world."

"How?"

"As peacefully as possible, child," said Avizo. "There are billions of creatures alive in this galaxy, as I am sure you know. Individually, they may be easily brushed aside but this evil. Together, however…"

* * *

_Primary Conference Room  
GF1  
3210/4/08, 8.00_

"You call that an _oversight_?" said Etecreus, incredulity and anger clear in his voice.

The members of the Council who had been on GF1 at the time were now convened in an emergency meeting. In the middle of the table, a live feed of the room on planet Septer in which the scientist Rivers sat was playing.

"I was never told that there was anything of value on Septer that we did not already have," said Michael 'Hound' Reece. As the highest-ranking commander of the entire GF military, he was the only military man on the Council, or, indeed, aware of its existence.

"Perhaps you had overlooked the 'ultimate weapon' we are searching for?" snapped Etecreus, glaring furiously at Hound.

Hound returned the stare. "All there is on that planet is writing, and we have copies of that writing…"

"…and now they do, too," finished Etecreus. He turned and looked around the table. "Goodwill. Is it possible to keep this out of the media? We don't want the common people worrying…"

"It might be difficult," mused Patrick Goodwill. "There is still an unencrypted video channel running between a military base and Septer. It's possible that a private media group may detect it."

"Unlikely," said Etecreus.

"The scientists there may have called for help," added Goodwill. "The news could be out within half an hour. Containment is infeasible."

* * *

_Planet Septer  
8.00_

Septer was an icy planet. It was at its warmest around this time of year, but that seemingly made no difference to the sub-zero temperature.

This didn't particularly faze the new arrivals. Most of them were Zebesians, and they had come equipped with heating apparatus which negated the problems associated with cold temperatures. Ridley, who had decided to personally oversee the operation, had a thick hide which was effective in keeping him warm.

"Has there been much resistance?" he asked, gazing at the entrance to the underground archaeological site.

The Space Pirate nearest to him replied. "There was a small group of GF soldiers inside the base. Our first group disposed of them with little hassle."

"Good," said Ridley. "That should make the civilians more co-operative."

* * *

_8.10_

"You mean the Federation is just leaving us out here to die?" exclaimed Lionel Rivers. He could her shots being fired, not too far from this very room.

"That isn't the case at all," said the man on the other end. He looked flustered. "Like I said, we have people at the highest levels discussing what to do right now. There should probably be a rescue force with you in a few hours' time."

"We'll all be _dead_ in a few hours time," said Rivers.

"We're doing what we can," replied the military man sadly. "I…"

With a slight buzzing noise, the bubble door behind Rivers opened, only to reveal several Space Pirates, and a creature Rivers recognised as the infamous Ridley, leader of the Space Pirates, who squeezed through the opening with only the slightest discomfort.

"I'm not interrupting you, am I?" said Ridley pleasantly.

"That… that door was locked," stammered Rivers, instinctively backing away.

Ridley smiled. "Yes. It still is, actually. But let me share a secret with you. I learnt it from a bounty hunter – oh, about eight years ago. Most doors will open during a power failure or fire. If you hit a door with enough force, or heat it up for long enough, it will just about always open for you, regardless of whether it's locked."

The Zebesians around Ridley moved around, trapping the defenceless civilian.

"Get him to lead you to the artefact," said Ridley.

The Zebesians brusquely led out a cowering Rivers.

Ridley turned his attention to the video screen. On the other end, there were several military men, all of whom seemed equally stunned.

"I'll negotiate, but not with them," said Ridley out loud.

"What?" said one of the military grunts on-screen, before the image disappeared and was replaced, first by static, and then with exactly what Ridley had suspected he would see – a windowless room, containing creatures of various species, all staring straight at him.

"The Council of the Galactic Federation," said Ridley, smiling. "I see that my predecessor was somewhat unsuccessful in that regard."

"Release the civilians," said one of the creatures on screen. It was small in comparison to the others, and covered with red fur. "They are irrelevant to your ends."

"I take that to mean," said Ridley, "that you haven't yet translated the texts. If that's the case, I certainly do not intend to release your scientists and linguists."

"We will retaliate," replied another man. This one Ridley recognised as 'Hound', the commander of the GF military.

"I don't doubt that," said Ridley. "But what good would it be to you? We will simply kill your civilians and leave if we see a fleet of ships approaching."

"Why are you doing this, Pirate?" said another Councillor.

"Because now we are all in an equally viable position to find the Chozo weapon," said Ridley. "And if it is as powerful as the rumours say, that is enough reason in itself to take a few lives in the process."

Somebody started to say something in response, but Ridley was done. He drew a breath, and then fried the screen and the console below it.

* * *

_GF1_

The screen turned to static, and then nothing.

Nobody spoke for a moment.

"He _knew_ about the Council?" said Goodwill finally.

Etecreus sighed. "You're new… I had nearly forgotten… of course Ridley knew. Just about _all_ of the Pirates do. The Space Pirates are trying to expose us, to prevent the final goal of complete law. They believe the perfect state is a mistake."

Goodwill turned across the table to Hound. "You could organise a Freelancer unit to extract the civilians. We can still salvage _something_ from this fiasco, from a media point of view."

"Freelancers are risky," said Hound. "Especially considering that this is a suicide assignment. We could only risk a single ship to avoid detection, and I doubt that they could stand up against a fully prepared enemy like that. I'm not even sure that we can fully trust the Freelancers any more, not after the Double Front…"

"That was ten years ago," said Etecreus. "So we're agreed, then, that we can't do anything about the civilians?"

"There's another option," said Goodwill.

"If by another option, Goodwill," said Etecreus, "you mean outsourcing the work to an _actual_ freelancer, especially if you mean _that_ one, then…"

"We're not going to be able to get anything out of her by force," said Goodwill. "In the course of trying to locate her, I was given the impression that not only is she a first-class hunter, but she is practically the best there is."

"Fine," said Etecreus. "But that human was _raised_ by Chozo. Regardless of what else she can do, she could be our best hope of finding the weapon-"

"-which is all the more reason to resume good relations," finished Goodwill.

Etecreus nodded slowly. "I suppose it _is_ reasonable. Fine, then. Do it."

* * *

(Yes, the next chapter is going exactly where you think it is.) 


	7. Contract

**ULTIMATE WEAPON  
OF THE CHOZO**

**By _tikitikirevenge_**

* * *

**SEVEN – CONTRACT**

* * *

_SR Cluster  
3210/4/8, 10.00_

It had been a while since Samus Aran had been directly contracted by the Galactic Federation. Not since Zebes, in fact, and that was over a year ago now.

As the distance to planet Septer rapidly diminished, she glanced again at the contract.

_Extract all civilians of the Galactic Federation from the archaeological site on planet Septer (estimate: 7 persons, all human). Collateral damage to the site or hostile parties involved is acceptable.  
Payment: 6 million credits upon acceptance of contract.  
2 million credits for each live civilian returned to the Federation.  
Additionally, all criminal charges unto you within the past 12 months are considered void upon acceptance of contract._

"Twenty million credits," she muttered to herself. It was a reasonable sum, all things considered. When she'd started bounty hunting, the money was the incentive. Recently, though, it was often the hunt for the sake of the hunt.

In addition to being the first time in recent months that she'd been contracted by the GF, this was the first time she had done any work since BSL.

The first step here would be to camouflage her ship, and buy herself some time. Paint wasn't readily available in the middle of space, so she would have to make do with the next best thing.

She set her ship down on a mountain of ice on the night side of Septer, and, after checking that her power suit was firmly sealed on (an almost unnecessary precaution, but it paid to be safe), stood from her seat. She then moved over to the small elevator in her ship, and stood still as it carried her up and into the wind and sleet.

Samus hopped off her ship, and then looked at the frozen ground. She was standing on top of a small plateau on a steep mountain face. The ground seemed to be entirely ice, and although she was sure there was rock underneath, it wasn't visible.

Carefully, she fired several penetrating plasma beams straight into the ground. Almost immediately, the ice began to thaw, and she stopped, and watched as her ship sank about a metre into the ice.

Samus then fired an ice beam into the water. It froze, trapping the underbelly of the ship with it. A sub-vocalised command through her helmet started the engines of the ship, and after a few seconds, it started to rise from the bed of ice. Assisted by a few carefully timed missiles, the ship rose up into the air, taking a sizeable chunk of ice with it.

The ice was rough and uneven on the inside, but that was good. Even at a close range, it looked reasonably white. It wasn't perfect, but if she kept close to the ground, it would shield her approach to her targets reasonably well.

Covering the top of the ship with ice would be more difficult, considering that it wouldn't be possible to flip it upside-down in such high gravity. Instead, she moved her ship around to the side of the nearest cliff face, and fired a missile to unsettle the ice and bring some of it down upon her hovering ship. It wasn't nearly as thick as the underside, but it would do, hopefully. The longer it took for the Space Pirates to notice her, the longer it would take for them to kill the civilians.

With a careful hop off the cliff-edge, Samus jumped back onto her ship and then inside.

* * *

_Inscription Chamber  
Chozo Ruins  
Planet Septer  
10.00_

"It _is_ in your best interest to co-operate," said Ridley, staring not at the three lead scientists surrounded by pirates, but instead at the Chozo writing on the wall of the cavern. Despite the nature of the message it contained, there was a strange beauty to it. "You all needn't die."

"I told you, we don't know what it means…" stammered Rivers. A human of about forty, he appeared to be the most senior of the scientists.

They were inside a cavern about a hundred metres under the ground. Fluorescent lights, doubtless installed by the scientists, cast a gray light over the circular chamber, which was nearly large enough for Ridley to fly around in. The walls were pure rock, unlike those of the human-built compound above. Half a dozen Zebesians stood around the scientists, menacingly waving around the plasma guns in their claws.

Ridley didn't respond immediately. Regardless of whether the human was telling the truth, it was frustrating to deal with hostages, particularly overly-indoctrinated citizens of the Federation.

"I'll give you all ten seconds," he then said, "and then one of you dies."

The humans looked at each other, fear turning to hysteria in just seconds. One of them raised his hands as if shielding himself, crying, "Oh please, no, we don't know anything, _we don't know anything-_"

"Kill him," said Ridley, still facing away. He heard the sound of an underling's plasma beam firing, followed by the gasps of shock the other two hostages made.

"You – you sick…" began one of them, who then stopped short as Ridley turned around and gazed at him emotionlessly.

"Pawns," he said, staring right through them. "I could explain to you, but you wouldn't listen, would you? The humans and all the other pitiful little races of your GF…"

"They're still not talking," said one of the pirates, standing directly behind the senior one, Rivers, with one claw raised like a scythe to the man's neck and the other loosely holding a plasma gun.

"They were probably telling the truth, then," said Ridley. His eyes flicked over to Rivers. "Good. You should continue your work, humans."

"You… you monster!" managed Rivers.

Ridley snorted. "What a very original insult, human. You have no idea what a service we are doing you…"

* * *

_Exterior  
11.04_

As she'd hoped, the journey around to the sunlit side of the planet was uneventful. She landed her ship as close to the entrance to the ruins as she dared.

Samus was no stranger to live bounties, but she had always felt uncomfortable with actively saving lives, not taking them. It wasn't that she didn't like the idea of heroism; it just wasn't her preferred style of work.

Outside the ruins, the wind was still howling fiercely. Samus gazed at the recently built tunnel that led down to the main dig site, and, standing right outside the front door, switched on her x-ray visor to see how many pirates she would have to contend with immediately. Surprisingly, there was only one, who, as luck would have it, was even looking in the other direction.

_How convenient,_ Samus thought. She raised the cannon on her right arm and fired a single, uncharged shot at the door, which smoothly glided open.

The Zebesian inside turned to face the newcomer and froze. It opened its mouth to say something, possibly a warning, possibly a profanity conveying its incredulity. Either way, Samus cut it off with a single, penetrating plasma beam which passed straight through the creature's armour and sent it flying back, unconscious before it hit the ground.

Samus strode down the dank, ice-walled hallway. As she reached the pirate's unconscious form, she stopped and slowly pressed her foot down on its skull, crushing it. She paused briefly, contemplating the implications, then looked forward and continued down,

The Federation had kindly supplied her with a map of the dig site, and she had spent the bulk of her flight memorising that and considering strategy. The tunnel she was in went forward for another hundred metres and down for about ten, before flattening out into an unorderly network of tunnels and living quarters. The actual dig site was somewhere below that. It was an interesting setup – Samus had been in enough subterranean chambers to be able to quickly gauge how much violence a given underground complex could take, and she predicted that if all went even slightly smoothly, there would be no danger of cave-ins.

Another scan with the x-ray visor revealed that at the end of the tunnel, she wouldn't be quite as lucky. There were at least seven pirates in the next room, and considering the delicacy of the mission, it would be best to hold off detection for as long as possible. A casual glance at the ceiling revealed an air duct which she should have known would have to be there – an air duct which, she was sure, had not been on the map the Federation had supplied.

How annoying.

A power beam blast knocked the grating from the ceiling, and Samus lifted herself up, curled into the Morph Ball, and continued on her way.

* * *

_4 months earlier…_

_The following interview was conducted 3209/12/13 in the Felonia Detainment Compound, by authorised Galactic Federation representatives. All names and other sensitive information have been removed._

SUSPCT: Is this interview on public record?

INTRV1: Galactic Federation record, yes.

SUSPCT: But not publicly available?

INTRV1: No.

INTRV2: I think we can all agree that it's best for all of us that the public not know we are detaining -----.

SUSPCT: Of course. If word got out… hmm. Am I still considered something of a hero?

INTRV1: After the ----- incident? Of course not.

SUSPCT: To the public…?

INTRV2: We will be asking the questions in this interview.

SUSPCT: Of course. Go on.

INTRV2: Today we want to discuss with you the subject of the Federation-owned computer you damaged.

SUSPCT: Allegedly.

INTRV2: Are you aware that the computer is imprinted with a psychograph?

SUSPCT: Yes. And yes, I know who it's of. And no, this did not result in a mental breakdown of any kind.

INTRV1: That was quick.

INTRV2: Shut up, -----… We are authorised to use torture if necessary. Perhaps you would enjoy that, Ms -----?

SUSPCT: You and the other interrogators mentioned that yesterday and the nine days before that. I don't think that you will though.

INTRV2: Oh, yes?

SUSPCT: You won't because if you do, _sir_, I can guarantee that it will destroy whatever reputation your military has with the masses.

INTRV1: Don't-

SUSPCT: Acting under Federation _guidance_, Lieutenant -----, I made a split-second judgement about the situation. Maybe it was the wrong thing to do; maybe I saved the life of every living creature under the Federation. And whatever you have been told, I do not _enjoy_ being held under arrest by one of my preferred employers, I do not _enjoy_ being made to justify doing the right thing for days on end, and I certainly will not stand for being interrogated by the arrogant son of a commander who never took the courtesy of-

(Incoherent noise.)

INTRV2: Kill her! Take that little vermin ----- and execute her on the street!

INTRV1 (to security personnel): Don't shoot!

SUSPCT: Assaulting an innocent. How inappropriate, -----. Maybe the stories are true.

INTRV2: I will kill you, I swear. Once this is all over and the Federation is done with you…

INTRV1: -----! Take it easy. Do you need medical attention?

SUSPCT: No, sir, it's just a bruise.

INTRV2: My shoulder…

SUSPCT: It's just dislocated. I can snap it back in place for you if you want.

INTRV1: Be very careful what you do around here, -----. He's not a good enemy to have.

SUSPCT: Thank you for the advice. Do you have any more questions for me?

INTRV1: After that? No – we still recording? Stop the tape, please. Guards-

_Transcript ends here._

* * *

_11.10_

Samus counted four civilian hostages in what looked like the dining room. They were pressed against the wall farthest from the door, with a handful of Space Pirates standing around them, making various taunts and threats.

Samus dropped down through a ceiling vent into a crouching position, and fired four beam shots in rapid succession. Discounting four of the seven civilians she had been assigned to rescue, Samus was now alone in the room.

One of the hostages, a pale-skinned twenty-something man, was the first to react, saying, "Please tell me you're on our side."

Slowly, Samus lowered her arm cannon and nodded. "Yes. You're going to be out of here in a moment." It still felt strange to hear her actual voice coming out of the suit. For a long time, she'd used a voice filter among other things to hide the fact that she was female. When Samus had started hunting, she recognised a certain bias against female bounty hunters, something about not being willing to kill. It was only about a year ago, after her highest-paying job ever, that she had finally decided that in her case at least, it made no difference. "I was expecting more. Where are the others?"

The same man as before spoke. "Where?… uh… ruin site. I'm pretty sure they were taken to the chamber there."

Good and bad. She had been planning on stopping there anyway, but the further down the hostages were, the longer it would take to get them out. "Do you civilians have access to night vision gear? Somewhere nearby?" she said.

One of them nodded and opened her mouth to speak. Samus waved an arm, cutting the woman off.

"Good," she said. "I'm going to go to the control centre and do something about the lights. I'm not here to mollycoddle you, though. You all know the way out, and I would be very upset if any of you happened to die on the way out."

Another of the researchers may have said something, but she was already back in the air ducts, watching the time carefully.

* * *

_11.12_

"You are pawns," continued Ridley. "Can you not see that, humans? They are manipulating you, and you are only helping bring about your own destruction."

"Just don't hurt us," said the hostage named Brown. "Please. We'll just do whatever you say…"

With a frustrated roar, Ridley exhaled, scorching the ground right in front of the two men. "Every time, humans. _Every time_ I have an opportunity to speak with a loyal citizen of the Galactic Federation, this happens. Not just the humans, either. All of the-" He stopped, and whipped his head around to face the closest of the pirates. "Did you hear that?"

"Hear what, Commander?" the creature said, looking startled.

"I heard weapon fire… oh, forget it." Annoyingly, for all the improvements that had been made to the Zebesian species under Ridley's command, the creatures still had the hearing of a human.

Ridley turned to face Trezyn, the pirate he'd left in charge of the lookout. "You were responsible for security, Zebesian. Is there any way, say, a Freelancer unit might have slipped past your guard?"

"No," said the pirate hurriedly.

The other fifty pirates in the room had their blasters pointed at the two hostages, looking at Ridley, waiting. "Shoot?" said one.

"There may or may not be a little band of rescuers in our midst," said Ridley slowly. "We can't afford to take…"

The power abruptly went out. For a moment, a dim red light running on auxiliary was all that lit the room. Then, with a shudder in the distance, that, too flickered off.

In the cave darkness, even Ridley couldn't make out anything for a moment, but he could certainly hear the panic and chaos that the unexpected change had caused.

"I was wrong," he said to no-one in particular. "The military don't like to fight in the dark… someone get the _lights_ on in here!" The last roar didn't seem to do much to alleviate the pandemonium. "Trezyn?"

"Yes, Commander?" yelled the pirate Ridley had just been talking to. Funnily, he seemed to be right behind Ridley now.

"This seems to be quite a letdown on your part," said Ridley. "You will have to be punished."

"Commander!" The pirate sounded worried. Good. He deserved it. "I took all the normal precautions! I swear on Touranis' body, I… I…"

More shouting; more running. It sounded as if the hostages had slipped from the circle, if not from the room.

"Enough of this," said Ridley, before he let out a fiery breath that instantly reduced the creature to a smouldering corpse. A couple of other pirates in the same general direction had also been killed. Their burning remains cast a dim light over the room, a convenient side effect which Ridley hadn't considered.

The return of lighting restored a semblance of calm to the room, and Ridley cast his eyes around, searching for and finding the hostages. The two men had almost made it halfway to the door; a commendable effort for such a weak species. Pirates who had just been running around, trying to restore the light, now stood still, looking at Ridley, awaiting his command.

"As I was saying," said Ridley, nodding his head towards the two men, "we can't afford to take risks. Kill the humans."

* * *

"Kill the humans," said Ridley, just as Samus literally flew through the door and into the inscription chamber, through several pirates, and landed in a crouch in the middle of the room, directly between Ridley and the remaining hostages, her arm cannon pointed directly at Ridley. The Federation had neglected to mention Ridley's presence here, either. The assignment had just become a little more challenging. 

Zebesians stood around the room, their beam weapons out and pointed in her direction, but stationary, as if unsure what to make of the new arrival.

It took her a moment to register that one of her bounties was dead on the ground, fear frozen onto his face. "You already killed one," she said, her voice annoyed but not truly angry. Ten years of killing had removed her appreciation of death.

"Samus Aran," said Ridley, his mouth curling into a wide smile. "The queen whore of bounty hunters."

Samus slowly turned her helmet until it was clear that she was looking at him through the visor. "What did you just call me, dragon?" she said icily.

Ridley opened his mouth in reply and Samus fired a missile into his mouth, knocking his head back for a moment. The sudden movement prompted the other pirates to start shooting, both at her and at the two hostages she was still able to rescue.

Thankfully, the scientists were smart enough to run on their own initiative, and The Hunter switched on her plasma beam and opened fire on the pirates closest to the door. The crossfire lit the room better than the remnants of Ridley's fire did, and the scientists soon covered the fifty metres to the door of the chamber.

"Get outside!" Samus shouted after them. She turned around to look at Ridley again, just as he let out a fiery breath which scorched her suit and forced her to jump backwards and out of range.

More Space Pirates ran around from behind Ridley to flank her. Without breaking eye contact with Ridley, she fired a super missile in either direction, sending them flying back.

"Are you really sending foot soldiers to kill me?" she said.

Ridley's eyes flicked from side to side, noting the dying pirates around him. "To be honest, I hadn't considered that the Federation would use you when I organised this strike."

"Really," muttered Samus, firing a charged beam into a group of Zebesians to her right. The smoke cleared, revealing four pirates still standing, weapons aimed at her.

"Go on, finish it," said Ridley; whether to his underlings or to her, she was unsure. She fired on the pirates as they shot at her. The Space Pirates' beams were harmlessly absorbed by her body armour. Her beams went straight through the pirates, killing them more quickly than they deserved.

Samus turned her attention back to the space dragon. "Why are the Space Pirates even here, Ridley?" she said. "You already knew about the amazing weapon or whatever it is."

"Your Federation has failed to yet translate the rest of the text," said Ridley, not moving, eyes looking straight down at her.

Samus glanced at the far wall of the cavern, where the text in question was etched. He was right; there was far more writing there than needed for the parts she had heard of. "Interesting," she said, her eyes running down the text. She muttered another command into her helmet, which responded by taking a snapshot of the mass of writing that spanned the entire wall.

What sounded like a gunshot echoed from above, puncturing the silence.

"Aren't you going to go up there and kill my bounties?" she said to Ridley.

"They don't have any ships left," replied Ridley. "You're their only way out. I am patient."

Another cold silence. Samus raised her arm cannon again and kept it levelled at Ridley, who was only ten metres away. Either of them could cover that distance in a single leap if they wanted to.

"How in hell did you survive Zebes?" asked Samus.

"I was already in orbit by the time the Mother Brain blew the planet," said Ridley.

"So you were hit by the shockwave. Pathetic, really," said Samus. The civilians should really have reached her ship by now, but she hadn't gotten the automatic signal yet. She inwardly sighed and continued to stall. "Why do this? Why would a space dragon, the last of the space dragons, even, want to lead the Space Pirates? I was led to believe that your species are solitary creatures."

"Seeing as I am the only space dragon, I don't know why you would think so," said Ridley. "Let me guess, Aran: the hostages haven't left the dig site yet."

"Would I still be here if they had?" said Samus.

"Yes," said Ridley. "You would be here, and I would be burning your frail little human body to ashes."

Text appeared on the inside of her helmet visor, telling her that the civilians were ready.

"Tell me something," said Ridley, and acting on impulse, Samus turned and started running for the door, blindly firing missiles behind her without looking. She made it through and was halfway up the tunnel to the researcher's compound before Ridley slammed into her from behind, knocking her to the ground.

"You're not that fast," snarled Ridley, slamming his claws into her armour. Samus rolled onto her back and sent two missiles flying into his mouth.

Alone here in the tunnel connecting the inscription chamber to the rest of the world, with the power still out, it was difficult to discern anything in the darkness. Samus reached for her helmet and activated her heat visor just in time to see Ridley launch a flaming breath at her. She scrambled out from under him, but not before the flame hit and left her armour glowing.

Ridley roughly grabbed her with one of his claws, pinning her right arm at an awkward angle, swung her around to face his jaws, and started breathing again. Samus struggled to break his grip to no avail. She lashed out with her legs, managing to kick Ridley in the left eye. He roared in pain and reflexively dropped her. The Hunter landed on her back, rolled, stood, and continued running away.

"You filthy human!" yelled Ridley, as he hit his head on the ceiling while trying to refocus his eyes.

She made it into the recently built research complex, ducked around a corner, and started weaving her way through the corridors. She kept running, and then started to slow as she realised that there was no sign of Ridley. Had he beaten her to her hostage-laden ship?

Samus flicked on her x-ray visor and peered intently, dimly making out the outlines of walls and the sloped tunnel that she had first entered by, but no sign of the dragon. She switched the x-ray visor off, her breathing returning to a normal rate.

"Where are you?" she muttered. It didn't matter. If he had chosen not to follow her out, then all the better. She wasn't here to fight him, and experience had proven that successfully killing the beast would be difficult and time-consuming.

Samus took one last glance in the direction she'd come, just in time to see Ridley slam shoulder-first into a corner, looking directly at her.

_How the hell can you run in a corridor half your wingspan, Ridley?_, wondered Samus, before he rocketed into her and kept going until they crashed straight through a concrete wall, landing in a larger room and coming to a stop as they collided with another obstacle.

The room was, if she remembered the map, where all the heated water and gas was stored. That corresponded to the two-storey blue tank to her left and the equally large yellow tank, labelled 'flammable', which she and Ridley had just crashed into. Neither of them moved.

"You're usually so glad to fight with me," said Ridley, slowly rising onto his legs. "Are you scared of me, Aran?"

"I'm not scared of insects," said Samus, standing as well, arm cannon raised.

"Was that an insult?" jeered Ridley. "That was pathetic."

Neither of them moved for a moment.

Ridley raised one of his claws and slowly, deliberately pushed it into the side of the yellow tank. He pulled it out, revealing puncture holes the size of human wrists. With a hissing noise, the gas spread into the room. Ridley pushed away from the tank so that he blocked Samus from the huge hole in the wall and the door right next to it.

"Wonderful," breathed Samus. She estimated the rate of gas dispersion, and mentally concluded that the Varia suit had better be in working condition after all this time.

Ridley opened his mouth and exhaled. The air in the room burst into flame, engulfing everything in a blinding light. The sensors on Samus' suit went haywire, flooding her view with warning symbols as the heat burnt away against her power suit's protective shielding.

"Can't _see_," Samus grunted just as the gas tank exploded behind her, sending her flying forward and straight into something that felt like Ridley, so probably was. Samus started firing missiles into him, hearing him roar in surprise. Something rammed into her (his tail?) and sent her flying to the side.

The explosion had passed, but charred bits of plaster and wood were strewn across the floor, and smoke was everywhere, obscuring her vision. Her power suit's defensive capacity was at a dangerous 23 percent, and Ridley might actually be able to end this fight if she didn't get out of the blazing room. She re-activated her x-ray visor. Ridley was standing next to the water tank, blocking her off from the hole he had made. The door had apparently blown in the fire, and it was now fused shut, not open.

"Hunter!" Ridley called.

_I am not dying at your hands, pirate, not here and now_, thought Samus, looking around at the angles, looking for a way to get past Ridley's massive form.

"I just wanted you to know that surrender is still an option, even after eight years," said Ridley.

Samus had worked out her exit plan. It would give her about two minutes, which was more than plenty of time.

"I don't want to fight you now," said Samus, raising her arm cannon and aiming it in Ridley's direction.

"Your wishes are of no matter to me," said Ridley, readying another breath.

They fired at the same time: Ridley with a short burst of flame; Samus with two missiles. Ridley's fire hit Samus in the chest, playing more havoc with her power suit's warning systems. Samus' missiles flew to Ridley's left, hitting the giant water tank, which exploded from the combined impact and heat of the room. A wave of water almost Ridley's height crashed into him and Samus fired an ice beam, solidifying it.

Ridley was caught in the frozen ice, his jaw pinned open at a painful angle, and the rest of his body trapped in the crystallised ice.

Not wasting any time with the biting quip she had just thought of, Samus turned, blew a hole in the wall, and ran for her ship.

_Damn her_, thought Ridley, tensing his muscles under the ice. Some of the water had flooded into his mouth, making it hard to get a stream of fire going. The way the ice had formed meant it was fairly hollow, and he could break it with brute force in a minute or two.

He kept on pushing at the ice with his immobile limbs, watching as the ice gradually fractured. Soon enough, the ice around his right arm broke, and he swung it into the rest of the ice, totally shattering it. He turned and flew towards the outside world.

* * *

_11.30_

When Ridley reached the planet's surface, he was met by a small patrol of space pirates on ground and around a hundred small assorted ships circling in the sky, shooting at an orange ship which already was almost out of the atmosphere.

"Break pursuit!" he shouted, his words echoing across the barren, icy landscape. Seconds later, the ships began to circle downwards, towards the ground.

One of the pirates on ground approached him. "We didn't see the ship arrive, sir. I take full responsibility. I-"

"Apologies can wait," said Ridley. "We return to the main fleet now. With their hostages safe, the Federation won't hesitate to scorch the planet."

"What about the hostages and the Hunter?" said the pirate.

"What about them? It is a hollow victory for them," said Ridley. "They have gained nothing except for another tank of propaganda to further inflate their collective ego. We have a copy of the Chozo text that we can eventually translate. There is nothing left for us here."

Ridley opened his wings and flew up to join the small fleet. The pirates on the ground got into their own ship and departed from the planet's surface.

_You'll die eventually, Hunter,_ thought Ridley, addressing empty air. _Behind that suit you're flesh and bones, and nothing of flesh and bones is forever._

His bitter mood carried with him for a few more minutes, and then his mind turned to the future.

* * *


	8. Coverage

**ULTIMATE WEAPON  
OF THE CHOZO**

**By _tikitikirevenge_**

* * *

**EIGHT – COVERAGE**

* * *

_Planet Rhiall (LF280)  
3210/4/8, 14:47_

"Government wants to cover this, we do too," said Krutha, waving the camera in his hands to swat a few unimportant technicians out of the way. He continued to push his way through the throbbing mass of people, leaving Lira to walk briskly in his wake.

Krutha Kjornar held the camera; Lira Al'vonel did the talking. They both knew their jobs, they were both good at their jobs, and this was essentially what had allowed them to work in tandem effortlessly and efficiently for the past seven years. They were completely different species, but that mattered little. Racism had supposedly died as of 2940, at least on Terra or Rhiall, or any of the major population hubs.

"It's not going to film well," said Lira, glancing behind her to see if anyone else was going in the same direction. No-one was. "What is there to see? A gaggle of men in glasses, walking out from a spaceship with a bit of a fanfare. Oh, joy."

"Management works in mysterious ways," said Krutha. They stopped as they reached a locked door, glowing gently and casting a blue light over the room. He looked at Lira expectantly.

Lira muttered an apology under her breath, reached into the satchel slung over her shoulder, and pulled out a small, unassuming electric stun gun. While technically to be used only in self defence, the law said nothing about shooting the inanimate. She fired the stun gun at the door. Immediately, the glowing stopped, and with an almost-inaudible _whoosh_, the door slid smoothly open.

It is an unwritten rule of architecture that in most buildings, safety comes before security. In the event of fire, electrical malfunction, spontaneous implosion or any other imaginable grievance, most of the doors in the galaxy will open smoothly – shooting a door is a near-foolproof way of getting it to open. Mysteriously, the people who seem to acknowledge this are those for whom breaking into restricted areas is a matter of course: criminals, bounty hunters, high-ranking military officers, and, of course, journalists.

"This way, right?" said Krutha. Two of his arms carried the camera and tripod while the other two negotiated the relatively small corridors.

"Weren't you leading?" said Lira. "It should be the same as last year. The Zebes person, remember?" Of course he remembered. They had managed to score a few major exclusive interviews for Channel Horizon. It was easily one of the top three events of her professional life.

"Nearly there, then," said Krutha, coming to a stop as they reached another door. Lira negotiated it with the stun-gun, and they emerged from the tunnels onto the roof of the shuttle maintenance building. It afforded a very good view of the landing pad where all the fanfare and hoorah was to take place. The management of Horizon News always made it a point that they used as much original footage as possible.

"Perfecto," muttered Lira. "Let's begin. The landing is scheduled in another five minutes. There should be just enough time for a 'live from the scene'."

Krutha didn't respond; he was already busy assembling the camera from the parts on his back with a speed and finesse which a casual observer may have thought impossible for such a stocky creature.

"I think we might have something here," said Lira.

Still no response.

* * *

_14:57_

The room was small, claustrophobic, walled with cheap iron panels which creaked whenever someone leant on them momentarily, and the ceiling and floor appeared to be filled with century-old plaster. It wasn't attractive in the least, but that was all right: it wasn't here that spectacles were staged. Patrick Goodwill's feel for the spectacular hadn't failed him yet, and he had jumped at the opportunity to organise something friendly, something which hadn't happened in the half-month in which he had been playing puppet leader.

"They're still circling," said the Fluiron technician seated to his left, "you're cutting it fine."

Goodwill stared at the smaller creature blankly.

"…President Goodwill," the technician added.

"Yes," he responded as if the pause had never happened (one might as well, he reasoned, flaunt such a title), "but the entire point of using this particular landing station is to get the Rhialli Refraction to complement the ceremony."

He glanced around the room; all of his other subordinates seemed unsurprisingly preoccupied with the other details of the sequence.

"Good, comrades," he said. "I leave this in your capable hands. If anything goes wrong, trust me, by tomorrow morning you won't have as much as a license to beg."

They knew better than to respond, and he quietly slipped out of the room and started walking briskly to the staircase that would bring him level with the landing pad.

The scene in the council room after Aran had sent a brief transmission ('six of seven alive; will deliver with payment') had been disturbing. Perhaps after so short a time working within the innermost circle of the GF, he was simply unaccustomed to their methods, but he had gotten the impression that most of the Council were no longer concerned about the hostages beyond whatever spin he put upon it. Instead, he had left GF1 to organise the celebrations in the midst of an argument about whether the Pirates were more capable of deciphering the text.

Of course, he corrected, there was nothing wrong with that. The welfare of a handful of scientists was not nearly as much of a priority as the welfare of the Galactic Federation and its citizens. We are all, he decided, happy for the ex-hostages, but that is in the past now, and the past is never an enemy.

* * *

_A private sanctuary  
Planet K2L  
15:01_

To those who aren't closely attached to the profession, bounty hunting can seem. The best bounty hunters accumulate far more money than they need. It is not uncommon for a dead bounty hunter to leave a small fortune floating in the middle of nowhere. Unexploited, wealth is useless.

As no exception to this pattern, Samus Aran recognised several years ago that she could have stopped bounty hunting and easily lived a comfortable life. But the money remained unused, existing only in numbers on bank spreadsheets and the occasional precious mineral sewn into a shoulder blade. She didn't waste the money, and it was always there when she needed it. A newer ship, illicitly-obtained cipher keys, higher-level GF information: anything that assisted her with her work was fair game by her standards. And she had never wasted money upon anything useless, save K2L.

The planet had long been declared useless-ergo-uninhabitable after being scorched of its precious _vakkta_ plants and citizens by Space Pirates some twenty-five years past. Four years ago, she purchased the planet from the GF on a whim. With her ever-recycled ships, it was probably the closest thing Samus had to a home. It wasn't much of a home, though. K2L was barren, lifeless, and devoid of whatever promise it once held – perhaps that was the point.

Bare of her power suit, Samus Aran stood outside in the shadow of a disfigured building. She'd spent the past hour etching in the ground with a handheld drilling laser, recreating the carving from the cavern on Septer. The design was evocative of her childhood, in particular of the building-city, half-temple, half-lab and all life, where she had spent that childhood.

The writing was formed from both Chozo scripts: the formalised _seriph aurid_ and the visceral _seriph vizo_. She had easily translated the former using her Power Suit, however this appeared to be exactly what the Federation had translated days ago. The latter script was by nature difficult to translate, and it was this that she would focus on momentarily.

The concept of this purported 'Chozo weapon' seemed to date back to a few years before her birth. The exact nature of the weapon apparently merited no discussion, as the outer rings of the text where devoted wholly to justifying its existence. It said little about the 'why', giving passing mention to 'many shades of evil' that apparently threatened the Chozo's existence. It was certainly intriguing; they had always seemed more cautious than paranoid.

Perhaps this wasn't the best way. Zebes had been the centre of Chozo activity, and it was like that at some point in her childhood or more recently after the Pirate infestation, she might have found something of relevance. With an inaudible sigh, she turned away from the writing. She closed her eyes, vaguely hoping that this would stir her rarely-used memories.

It was a pity, mused an unwanted voice in the back of her head, that the planet was so empty. K2L had been forgotten, blurred into the image of a billion other deaths, and not even the one part of the planet that still lived on cared.

* * *

_24 years earlier  
Chozodia Temple  
Planet Zebes  
3185/12/24_

Redness. Anger. Relaxation. And then reality.

Her eyes were open already.

In front of her were three ragged dolls, the middle one ripped to pieces.

"Good," said Izech, towering over her without menace.

"Did I…?" began the girl, stopping herself. "I did," she finished, nodding.

"Yes," said the bird again.

Today's room was different. It was empty. The wires that had been tangled around her body many weeks ago were gone now. Instead there was a strange looking metal object behind her which also made her 'doze off'.

"Were you trying to touch it?"

"'Course not," said the girl. "Like I said, it's like when you're tired and you just want to sleep. Easy." Her arms crossed in jesting arrogance.

"Good," said Izech. He turned to speak to his other friends in that strange bird language, leaving her time to stretch her arms and yawn slightly.

"_Gi?_... yes?" said slightly smaller bird person in a bright grey coat, looking at her.

"Oh," she said. "Just yawning, you know."

"You…?" The bird made a slight gesture of confusion and turned to the one called 'Izech', who was obviously more important.

"Is that so?" said Izech, turning. "Just one more run, then."

A brief silence uncomfortably bounced between them.

"It will all be over for you soon," he added, producing another stuffed doll.

"What will you do?" said the girl.

"To you?" said Izech quickly.

"No, with that thing." She gestured at the strange silvery shape behind her.

"Once we finish learning from you," said Izech, placing the new doll over the remains of the old one, "we will use it to help the rest of your kind free themselves from their clustered ways of thought."

"You're going to make them all just like you?" said the girl.

"No," said Izech, placing a hand over the strange metallic object. "We want individuals, a population who think for themselves. There are many shades of evil, child, and civilisation is only willing to deal with the darkest of them." He muttered something quietly and the object began to shift in shape.

"What does that mean?" said the girl.

Izech frowned. "It means that we have seen entire worlds led around like animals to a bloody slaughter and that it is pointless and horrifying… the planets united by the Galactic Federation are many…"

"So you want to save them?"

The bird laughed humourlessly. "There's no such thing as heroes, not like human folklore might have you believe. We're just helping them save themselves."

"From the Space Pirates?" said the girl, shivering as a brief memory of family flickered through her mind's eye.

"We cannot help them with that," said the bird. "The Space Pirates wield death, and there is no moral answer to that threat."

The silvery object stopped twisting. Izech appraised it with grim satisfaction.

"What will happen to me?" said the girl.

"We cannot let the Federation know about you. It is infested with creature like humans who also speak the language of death. You will not leave Zebes," said Izech.

Another silence, this time with undertones of inevitability.

"Now, actively try not to move towards the dolls," said Izech, and then he spoke under his breath again.

Redness. Confusion. Resistance. Power. And then nothing.

* * *

_Present day_

_15.28_

Dr Lionel Rivers staggered away from a sea of light, loud noises and canned applause into the comforting normalcy of a bland corridor in the middle of nowhere.

"You did well, sir," said the dark-skinned man in the grey suit who had something to do with the government-run Epsilon Media.

"I just stood there for twenty minutes," Rivers wanted to say, but didn't because he appreciated the libellous power that the man's employers held. Instead, "Thanks."

The man in the grey suit continued, "Now, if you don't mind, we want to do a video recording. It should be an hour at most."

"I don't know if I'm up to it," said Rivers honestly. "I need sleep, I need to stop thinking about their deaths…"

"Oh, of course," said the man pleasantly, with a theatrical air of disappointment. "Trauma. We understand, Mr Rivers."

"Thank you," said Rivers, too relieved to correct the honorary. "I just need to get back home… I have a wife…"

"Do you?" said the man. "Well, there are plenty of commercial flights going through Rhiall. This building is only thirty minutes' walk to the main dock. We'll get in contact with you in a day or two."

In the seconds it took Lionel to register this information and nod, the other man had already turned and walked away.

He tried to keep his focus on the arduous business of getting back to his planet of residence quickly, but to no avail; the picture of all those dead Space Pirates and his very human colleague…

"Good afternoon," said a voice behind him, breaking him from his thoughts. "Dr Rivers, am I right?"

A full-grown Vhurl and a relatively young, female human slid into stride with him on either side. He flinched slightly to the right to avoid the imposing camera almost jammed into his face.

"Are you more reporters?"

"Of course," said the woman. "My name is Lira, we're with Horizon News, and I couldn't help but overhear that you're in need of a quick ride home. Holumus II, right?"

"You also want an interview?" Rivers said bitterly. "Because if that's so, no. I'm done with civilisation for today. I'm going back home to the real world where there are people who see more to me than a near-death experience. You understand?"

He upped his pace, but the two reporters continued to match it.

"Is that so?" said Lira politely, the professional smile not leaving her face. "Krutha, could you stop recording? No need for editing to wade through filth."

"Yes," nodded the Vhurl to Rivers' other side, lowering the camera.

"I feel," said Lira, "that you should be careful. Krutha here is a full-age Vhurl. A species, you know, which is significantly larger than the average human. At that size, he could probably crush your legs with ease."

"You're threatening me," said Rivers, almost amused by the absurdity of the situation. He wasn't used to any kind of media attention, certainly not the forceful variety.

"Yes," said the Vhurl. "No cameras in this part, either."

"Seriously," said Lira. "We're not after much. We fly you out, you talk to us over a drink about your little adventure, and you're home, safe, happy, everything."

Rivers nodded slightly. It would be quicker than walking to the dock.

* * *

The delay was happenstance; arc is (really!) progressing; feedback would be appreciated. 


	9. Summons

**ULTIMATE WEAPON  
OF THE CHOZO**

**By _tikitikirevenge_**

* * *

**NINE – SUMMONS**

* * *

_Asteroid belt of an unnamed star  
3210/4/9, 3:00_

The moment the fleet had stopped in this worthless wasteland of a stellar system, high commander Ridley summoned the other Pirate commanders to a meeting in the middle of the largest asteroid they could find. The interior of the asteroid was surprisingly cavernous, with rough crater-pocked walls of ash and un-oxidised silver jagging out, waiting to pierce the flesh of incautious creatures. Ridley wasn't particularly perturbed by the environment, but most of the commanders were obviously uneasy, their species-specific air tanks looking slightly awkward.

"High Commander Ridley, this meeting place is ridiculous," said Kozis, a ki-hunter covered in bright red organic armour – ceremonial, but very functional. "Why couldn't we do this from between the ships?"

Ridley glared at him impatiently. "Less distraction, more privacy if that is required… and it's impossible to think clearly surrounded by insects and grunts."

"He likes to see us suffer," muttered the Zebesian Sh'toutin.

The possibility of lunging and crushing her ultimately-brittle body with his jaws briefly flickered through Ridley's mind. He saw in crystal clarity the pirate's body snapping in two, the heavily-improved armour proving useless against brute force. The train of thought expanded within seconds to involve the grisly death of every single insubordinate pirate under his command, before he gently broke it off and refocused on their current surroundings.

"We need," he said, "to agree on a course of action."

Back in Touranis' day, space pirate commanders had numbered around a dozen. The number had since fluctuated wildly, due to heroic deaths in battles and the occasional undignified execution by Ridley. Right now, there were five.

Vern, a diminutive, two-horned sloth-like creature, had been liberated by the Pirates from a prison on a remote Federation planet several years ago. His usefulness in battle only extended as far as piloting ships, but at this task he excelled, winning Ridley's non-disapproval with relative ease.

Scythe, the self-named human who had used to work as a bounty hunter, sabotaging so many Federation outposts and ships that Ridley simply inducted him into their ranks, where he continued to do much the same thing.

Norsket, a blue-scaled six-limbed reptilian, slightly larger than Ridley would have been without wings. Another convert from several years back, he was a force to be reckoned with on ground-based battles, capable of holding off a sizeable GF legion alone. The only battle wound he sustained was a long thin burn mark that stretched down several metres from his neck; it had been given to him by a bounty hunter working with the Federation and was his only failure in battle.

Sh'toutin, a Zebesian, who had some years ago managed to quietly encourage a human-led coup in a GF-controlled solar system. Although ultimately this was unsuccessful (the GF sent their Freelancers in to raze the planets and blamed it on the Pirates), it impressed Ridley that the Zebesian had managed to convert so many citizens to their cause. It was vaguely reminiscent of how Touranis' movement had worked in the beginning. Ridley wouldn't have been surprised if she was one of Touranis' numerous progeny.

Kozis, who had already been leader of the ki-hunters before joining the pirates. The ki-hunters were a winged species from a distant galaxy only slightly larger than an average human, with a corrosive and very alien biology. They had joined the pirates a year and a half ago for reasons less related to ideology and more related to a simple bloodlust. The full extent of Kozis' role as a commander was to direct the rest of his species at Ridley's request, which he did with seeming relish.

"What's changed since we last talked?" said Norsket.

"The Chozo writing, of course," said Ridley. "From what I heard on Septer, the Federation has made about as much progress with the language as we. Obviously, this must change."

"The ki-hunters may be able to offer their assistance," said Kozis. "We have past experience in deciphering codes." He'd never elaborated on what had driven his species from their original galaxy.

"Good," said Ridley. "See that you do that."

"The scientists who escaped that planet…" offered Scythe.

"…pose no threat to us, and may even prove useful," said Ridley, cutting him off.

"The question of the Chozo device aside, I suggest we return to our old modus operandi," said Ridley. "Keep the Federation occupied with attacks on weaker targets. Supply ships, outlying planets, research vessels, so on." He nodded at Vern and Norsket. "You can each command a squadron; I'll direct the rest. Take anything useful."

"All soft targets?" echoed Vern quietly.

"Yes," said Ridley. "Sh'toutin, has there been any progress with what we previously discussed?"

"I haven't been able to get in contact with any of our friends yet," said Sh'toutin. "Since we got you out, the Federation has been more paranoid then usual."

"I'm going to need faster work from you," said Ridley. "It will make all-out war that much easier."

"Understood," said Sh'toutin.

"Scythe, work with her," said Ridley. "I don't believe the Federation knows what you look like under the armour. You should be able to go into their territory unchallenged."

Scythe nodded.

"Appreciated, high commander," said Sh'toutin.

"Work fast," said Ridley.

* * *

_Veritahawk – a private ship  
En route to Holumus II  
3.56_

"You're awake."

Dr Rivers opened his eyes. The first thought that ran through his mind was how annoyingly bright it was. The second was that however long he'd been sleeping, he didn't feel any more rested. Then he remembered the nightmare that had awoken him.

"How long have I been…?" he began, sitting up with immense effort.

"Ten, eleven hours?" ventured the reporter who had identified herself as Lira, her legs crossed over a chair facing the small bed he was sitting on. "Almost since the moment you got on board. And no wonder, after what you'd been through…"

"Right," said the scientist, nodding. He glanced around at the interior of the _Veritahawk_. What it lacked in size it made up for in smooth, eye-pleasing adornments along the interior. A light tinted slightly orange brightly illuminated what could best be described as a sitting room.

A fast-moving object in his peripheral vision made him spin back around in time to catch an aluminium water bottle right in front of his face. He looked at it, uncertain.

"It's deionised," said Lira. "No harmful chemicals."

"No, it's not that…" He paused, struggling for words. "I've… a lot has just happened to me."

"I see," said Lira, though he suspected she didn't.

A thought struck him. "Have you been waiting for me to wake up all this time?"

"Oh, no," she laughed. Her laugh sounded tinny and slightly forced. "I've only been up for about half an hour." She turned her head towards the only door in the room, which led to the deck, shouting, "Krutha! Time?"

"Another hour," came the reply, which Rivers placed with the large brutish creature that'd been carrying a camera.

"Right," said Lira. She turned back to him. "Now, we've just done you a major favour. You're enjoying a pleasant, speedy ride home in an uncrowded ship."

"You want an interview," recalled Rivers.

Lira nodded. "Exactly. We have a few cameras fixed in the walls. No – _please_ don't look for them. It makes you look unnatural."

Rivers nodded and sat up slightly, straightening his back. His eyes focused on the make-up on the woman's face. "I just woke up. I look tired," he said spontaneously. "I don't want to be on-"

"Tired is good," said Lira. "Like you said before, you've been through a lot. It makes you look… _genuine_."

Not completely comprehending, Rivers nodded.

"Take your time; we can cut any pauses out," said Lira. "Right – Doctor Rivers, you were trapped by a Space Pirate force in the caverns of planet Septer. Tell me, what were you thinking?"

"I was scared," said Rivers, head bowed, and surprised at how easily it all came out. "I was so sure that I was going to die. Pirates, everywhere, right in front of me… and then he killed Peterson…"

"Who?" interrupted Lira.

Rivers looked up. "Robert Peterson… he was helping me with computer analysis of that accursed writing…"

"No, not _him_," said Lira. "_Who_ killed Robertson?"

"The dragon," said Rivers, "the one in charge. Ridley."

Lira nodded, as if slowly processing the information. "Ridley? _The _Ridley?" A nod. "Really…? That's very interesting…"

Rivers shifted uncomfortably.

"Krutha!" Lira shouted to the deck. "Take your time! This is going to take longer than we'd anticipated…"

* * *

About ninety minutes later, the _Veritahawk_ breached the atmosphere of Holumus II. As soon as Rivers was off the ship and they had ensured some future contact, reporter and cameraman exchanged a few quick words.

"You heard all that?" asked Lira.

"How could I not?" said Krutha. "This is amazing. Like last year with Zebes."

"We shouldn't wait. I'll upload the recording," said Lira.

"Of course," said Krutha. "Back to headquarters?"

"Naturally," said Lira.

They sent an encoded transcript of the interview back to Channel Horizon Headquarters via encrypted graviton-pulse. The technology allowed for data to be transmitted across the galaxy at unimaginably high speeds without causing any natural harm, unlike archaic radiation-pulse technology.

The recording was intercepted almost immediately by a GF outpost, instructed the previous day to monitor the ship's transmissions. It took four minutes for the computers to brute-force open the transmission.

At six in the morning, aboard GF1, council member Goodwill awoke to a call telling him that the _Veritahawk_ had indeed sent a transmission to its private owner. He received the transcript shortly after, and immediately called a private meeting.

* * *

_A meeting room  
GF1  
6.30_

"So the humans were face-to-face with Ridley," said Etecreus, glancing through the first few pages of the transcript. "Human Goodwill, while that is journalism, it certainly isn't news."

"It's about ten pages in," said Goodwill.

Etecreus looked Goodwill in the face, himself expressionless. "Please, Goodwill, just come out and say it."

Patrick Goodwill didn't _like_ his fellow-Councillor Etecreus in any sense of the word. He had only requested his presence at the reduced meeting because the shrunken red creature's political history commanded respect, and the other members of the Council listened to him. Past Councillors had been murdered (sometimes figuratively) for making important decisions without his prior knowledge.

"Most of the interview focuses on the scare-value of Ridley," said Goodwill. "However, some time was spent on some of the things he said."

"Which are…?" said 'Hound', the other person present, with no little impatience.

Goodwill counted off on his fingers: "Among other things, the GF military is a 'waste of lives', the government is 'exploiting' its people in the name of economic and military stability, plus a handful of obvious lies. I take concern, fellow Councillors…"

"Save the honoraries for later," interrupted Hound.

"…Ridley attempted to convince the scientists that the GF is not a democracy. He then attacks the backgrounds of our most recent presidential candidates, Youthanir and I."

"I see," said Etecreus.

He closed his eyes, muttering something quietly. It was not so much a personal quirk as a concentration technique of his species, he had explained once. As he was (apparently) the last of his kind, this went undisputed.

"This isn't the first time," said Hound. "When the Pirates first appeared, they were all for spreading the word about the Council."

"But the fact that they're reopening old wounds is worrying," said Goodwill. "You don't think they went out of their way to leave the humans alive…?"

"It doesn't matter," interrupted Etecreus, snapping out of his reverie. "What with several things that have happened in the past year, it's possible that this media channel may give unwanted attention to this information."

"Right," said Goodwill. "But we don't run that particular channel. We can't just ask them not to air a story. That's why I called the meeting. The Freelancer units are under Hound's control."

"Right," said Hound. "You wanted approval?"

"Actually," said Goodwill, "I was hoping to have your finger on the button."

"Guilty conscience?" said Etecreus, smiling. He smiled rarely; it was almost frightening.

"Something like that," said Goodwill.

"I'll keep this meeting off the record," said Etecreus. "You two do whatever is necessary, but don't draw any attention to us. Now, if you'll excuse me…"

He made his way to the door, and pressed a hand against the door's security scanner. The door opened quietly, and he was gone.

Hound stared Goodwill in the face, challenge in his eyes. "You believe in karma?"

"I've never killed anybody," said Goodwill, returning the stare. "I never will."

"Yet you've essentially asked me to do it," said Hound. "Isn't that the same?"

"It's different," said Goodwill.

"Of course," sneered Hound. Abruptly, he stood up, his expression polite again. "Right. Councillor Goodwill, thank you for bringing this little matter to my attention. I understand time is of the issue, but it may take a little time to come up with a suitable cover story."

"Absolutely," said Goodwill, standing as well; the war of words postponed. "Get back to me."

"Of course," said Hound.

* * *

The message from the news channel's ship was also intercepted by another party, which was flying in a warship drifting aimlessly, far away from civilisation.

This other party consisted of about a dozen individuals, mostly human and mostly male. None of them were exactly young, but they were all clearly fit. They easily could have passed as a mercenary group, or a group of high-paid bounty hunters.

"We intervene," said one, who was leaning forward in his seat. His call-sign was 'White'.

"No," said another, call-sign 'Blue'. "We would lose the one trump card we have. Neither the Federation nor the Space Pirates must know about our existence until the last possible moment."

"I agree," said a third, call-sign 'Red', this one not human but humanoid, with rubbery skin. "Besides, what are 'a few more deaths in a battle'?"

Subdued chuckling at the last sentence emerged.

"Very funny," said the man who sat at the front; he was their leader. His hair had begun to gray with age, but he was still as fit as he had been in his prime, and his mind was as sharp as ever. "If you're going to paraphrase me, _please_ make the courtesy of doing so in context."

The laughter died down. When the leader spoke, they listened, not because of some claims of false authority, but because the man with greying hair knew exactly what he was talking about.

"We can intervene without revealing ourselves," he continued. "Like what happened with the colony two years ago. The Federation will respond with Freelancers. We can simply make them vanish."

Nobody _said_ anything, but their incredulity showed.

"That's quite… risqué…" began Black.

"You don't believe we can dispose of a Freelancer team?" said the man with greying hair. "It's not like it's the first one we've killed."

A few half-hearted smiles at the joke.

"So we're agreed, then?" he said. It was a rhetorical question; they would give their lives if he ordered them to.

Nods all round.

Red looked hesitant. "We can't save everyone, you know. Some of them will be dead by the time we get there."

Their leader shrugged. "Maybe so. But if the information gets out, the Feds and the Pirates are on even footing again."

"Maybe that isn't a good thing after all" said Red.

"Maybe so," said the man with greying hair. "Frankly, I think we're all in need of a little excitement after ten years."

It was a valid point; the conversation was over. The ship changed course to Planet Terra.

* * *


	10. Intention

**ULTIMATE WEAPON  
OF THE CHOZO**

**By _tikitikirevenge_**

* * *

**TEN – INTENTIONS**

* * *

_Channel Horizon Headquarters  
Planet Rhiall (LF280)  
3210/4/9, 7:30_

"Miss Al'vonel. Krutha. I've just heard about your _excellent _catch. We intend to get it on air in time for the midday show." The _Veritahawk_'s surround speakers rendered the Director's voice ever-so-slightly tinny – they would have to be changed, Krutha noted.

Without apology, Lira leaned in front of Krutha to reach the microphone. "Director? Could I speak with you once I dock?" she said.

"Why, of course," came the reply, with a hint of mild surprise.

Ignoring the human woman's obstruction, Krutha's four hands gracefully played with the ship's controls, directing the _Veritahawk_ into the docking station.

Straightening up, Lira glanced at Krutha and said, "We're sticking around here for a while – in case you wanted to know."

She grabbed the discs containing all fifteen video feeds they'd used for the interview, and left the ship without another word.

* * *

Anita Winterhill, or 'the Director' as she was called by those in her employ, was sitting on an antique metal chair in her office. A large screen on the only windowless wall silently displayed several video streams – an uninspiring docudrama, currently being broadcast from this building; a pulsating CGI display representing the various demographics presently watching that docudrama; and, most prominently, a montage of stills of the space dragon called Ridley.

"May I have the feeds?" asked the Director, her eyes not leaving the screen.

Lira walked to her superior's desk and put all three of the discs down. "You don't have anything to say?" she said, falling back into a chair.

"Not particularly," said the Director. "Would you like me to congratulate you or something like that, Ms Al'vonel?"

"I suppose not," said Lira, trying to sound more humbled than annoyed.

"It was _you_ who wanted a face-to-face, after all," said the Director. She swivelled in the chair to face directly at Lira. "What is it?"

The Director looked at least fifty – too old to be dancing in front of a camera. She'd never enquired, but Lira was fairly certain that maybe twenty or thirty years ago, the Director had had a job much like her own. The woman clearly had the strength of voice, and she was definitely attractive, even at that age – Lira of all people was aware of that.

"Well?"

Lira blinked. "To be blunt, Madame Director, this channel desperately needs new reporters."

"What you mean," sighed the Director, vaguely annoyed, "is that you're tired of reporting, but as you haven't just phoned it in, you evidently want to stay here."

"Well… yes," said Lira, glad that her boss was on the same wavelength.

"You're not the first. Give me one good reason why."

"I'm thirty-two," said Lira.

"I see," said the Director. "Do you have a particular position in mind?"

"Well, I want to work post-production; I majored in-"

"I'm very sure you did." The Director stared closely at Lira for a few seconds more, then rotated back to face the video screen. "I'm always busy, Ms Al'vonel, but I shall make a point to have you transferred by the end of the month."

"Thank you," said Lira. She nodded at the screen, which continued to slide through various dragon photos. "Are you going for a menacing look or an evil one?" she said, rising from the chair.

"We were actually considering a more 'cunning' image of Ridley, if you know what I mean. It would splice well with the interview," said the Director, stroking her chin.

"Very… bold," said Lira, "that would be fairly pro-pirate compared to anything we've shown before." She turned and walked to the door.

"My young friend," said the Director without looking at her departing figure, "this channel has a short but strong history of support from the public. One half-second flash across the screen isn't going to ruin us. This isn't life and death."

The Director glanced at the door. Lira had already left the room.

* * *

_FL-5 Primary Ship  
Deep Space  
6:57_

The 'Freelancer' (FL) units of the Galactic Federation military were, relatively speaking, a new addition, only formed about twenty years ago. In that short time, the seven (formerly eight) units had found their place in the command structure and day-to-day business of the government.

The original purpose of the FL initiative was to separate the 'elite' from the 'cannon fodder'. Freelancer units were supposed to be the most effective squadrons in the whole of the galaxy, and effective they indeed were. All the remaining FL units worked well, with elite individual members who had learnt to tread the fine line between taking initiative and taking orders. Their training was thorough, although these days, it mostly consisted of lessons copied verbatim from the legendary tactician himself, Adam Malkovich (may he rest in peace).

Call-sign 'Morte', the leader of FL-5, had led this particular unit for a long time, almost fifteen years now. He realised that he was nearing the age of forty and was starting to slide from his physical prime, but he felt that he had a few years left in him before he quit.

Morte awoke to a dull buzzing alarm tone, which he recognised as coming from the secure phone line. He reached for the speakerphone button as he had done so many times before, and waited.

"This is Hound," said the voice on the other end. The commanding officer of the entire military sounded calmer than he usually did when giving direct orders.

"Sir," acknowledged Morte, sitting up in his unfurnished bed.

"There's an urgent matter I need you to address right now. It is of the highest importance."

Morte waited.

Hound spoke: "The President and his advisors have found some disturbing news about yesterday's incident on Septer. You are aware of that, of course?"

"Of course," said Morte.

"Well," continued Hound, "it seems that two of the survivors struck a bargain with the Space Pirates in exchange for their lives, involving the sabotage of the Galactic Federation. One of them, in turn, went to a commercial network based on planet Rhiall, and gave an interview in which he openly described how best to exploit government security arrangements." He spoke faster than he normally did when giving his orders. "You understand?"

"That's very serious," said Morte.

"Of course it is," said Hound impatiently. "I needed you to see the severity of the situation. Any copies of the interview must be destroyed. Anybody who may have been exposed to the interview must be killed."

"Yes, sir."

"While I won't directly interfere with your initiative as unit commander, I suggest you make it look like a Space Pirate attack, for the obvious reasons."

"Yes, sir."

"Good," said Hound. "Any details you need are being sent to your ship's computer. There are two particular reporters who you should pay special attention to. And Morte – these people are motivated by nothing but greed and hatred for the rest of society; it's imperative that you don't spare them or listen to their excuses."

"Never have," said Morte sincerely.

Hound ended the call.

Morte sat in his bed for a couple of minutes, trying to remember the first human traitor he'd been ordered to kill. It was a long time ago, and all the faces tended to blur together into a single ugly, hateable image of people who cared nothing for those outside of their tight circle of friends. The Galactic Federation was all about the greater good, and by damn, Morte was proud to be working to keep it safe. Perhaps the Freelancers would always be distrusted and misunderstood for doing their duty to their Federation, but the deep feeling of satisfaction that comes from being part of a bigger picture kept him going every day.

He got dressed, strode briskly to the command deck of his ship, and instructed the computer to wake the rest of his team.

"I'll be glad when we finally wipe out the bugs," he said aloud, thinking about how much more demanding things had become after the Space Pirates had risen to prominence…

* * *

_Purox Corporation Headquarters  
Planet Terra  
7.00_

"Hello, my name is Arthur Radley," said Scythe. It was a lie. "I represent one of the world's largest stockbrokers' syndicates. Your boss will want to see me."

The peroxide-blonde receptionist sighed sympathetically. "I'm afraid that's not possible, Mister Radley. You're going to need to make an appointment. Busy times, you know? You could speak to one of his executive…"

"I'm not on his schedule?" said Scythe, sounding worried. With the help of the Zebesian Sh'toutin, he'd downloaded Wilcox's schedule the day before. "But my syndicate made an arrangement with him last week…"

The receptionist's facial expression morphed into suspicion. "Are you certain? This hasn't happened before."

"I'm very sure," Scythe insisted. "Please, could you tell him I'm here?"

"Sure," said the receptionist, still looking uncertain. "But I'm warning you, if you're lying, I'll have you thrown out for wasting his time…"

"Mr Radley from MONASTIC," said Scythe.

"I'll speak to his private secretary." She picked up the phone and entered a five-digit extension. "Hello? Yes, Anita from reception. I have a Mr Radley from MONASTIC down here, something to do with shares, he's sure he has an appointment with Mr Wilcox. Pardon? Of course, of course, but he's quite insistent… if it isn't too much trouble?"

The receptionist put the phone down and smiled at him apologetically.

"No trouble, I hope," said Scythe pleasantly.

"No, no," said the receptionist, avoiding his gaze timidly. "The boss just does prefer to know in advance when somebody is coming, sir."

"Naturally," said Scythe. "And please… call me Arthur."

"Arthur…" The woman paused, clearly uncertain what to say. "What business exactly does your firm have with Mr Wilcox?"

"We're trying to bulk-buy shares in high-dividend companies which we feel have the potential to boom, well, even higher than their former rates." _I should have anticipated that question beforehand_, he chided himself. Fortunately, the receptionist didn't seem to have registered that he had no idea what he was saying.

"That's intriguing," she smiled. "I confess I don't really follow the stock market, but you make it sound like very exciting work."

"Sometimes," said Scythe, falling back into a familiar rhythm. "But every other day it's just dreary paperwork and the like. I imagine it's much the same for you, Mrs…?"

"Miss Anita Umbré," said Anita. The phone beside her rang again. "Oops, that should be it… hello? Yes, yes… oh, is that right? Okay, I'll tell him that… yes, he'll be pleased to know… thank you, good day."

"So it's okay?" said Scythe.

"Yes," said Anita, "he said he must have forgotten to book you in. Well, Mr… _Arthur_, sorry for the wait…"

"Oh, it was all the better for it," said Scythe politely, taking a slight step back as if to go.

"Well, security should have been notified, so take that little elevator there in the corner up to floor two-nine-nine, and the staircase up from there."

"Thank you very much, ma'am," Scythe said, turning to the elevator.

"Wait!" The woman was looking at him strangely, and her voice lowered. "Sir… if I wanted to learn more about your business, or invest or what have you… I don't suppose you have a business card?"

"Well, they don't let us give out main office numbers – only two lines, you see," said Scythe, reaching into the pocket of his jacket whilst matching her tone of voice, "but this here has my private number on it. I should be able to… hook you up with something."

Anita nodded and took the card. Scythe smiled and walked to the elevator. What a fortunate coincidence he'd run into the receptionist – now he had something to do tonight before he caught the shuttle the next day.

When Sh'toutin had explained her project to him, Scythe had been very impressed by the audacity of it. He had known that, while operating as surrogate commander, she'd expanded the Space Pirates' sphere of influence, but having Wilcox, the king of the hyperfuel commodity, so willingly join them as an ally? No wonder she was one of Ridley's favourites, as he was.

He now walked casually to the private elevator that had been pointed out to him, glancing around the room at various well-disguised security measures. A large x-ray plate in front of the elevator had been covered with plastic, not stone, making it a slightly different colour to the rest of the floor. The bright ceiling lights almost certainly hid a few cameras. The grille on an air vent right above the elevator revealed it to be a model of pathogen detector starting to gain popularity in security companies.

More prominently, two large, muscular-looking men stood on either side of the elevator, staring suspiciously at him. Although he would have been able to kill them both with ease, Scythe was grateful that Wilcox had so quickly recognised the codeword agreed to months before. He didn't want to tear down the building to get to Wilcox's office, not at this stage of the proceedings.

"Arthur Radley?" said one of them as he drew close.

"Yes," he said.

The man pushed a button on the wall.

Social etiquette dictated that Scythe stand a certain distance from the elevator while waiting for it, forcing him to stand on the concealed x-ray plate. Scythe stared impatiently at the elevator doors for what must have been half a minute, until they opened at last. With a dismissive glance at the guards, he stepped inside the lift.

* * *

A/N: An abrupt chapter ending, to be sure, but given what's coming next, this was the best place to stop.

* * *


End file.
